


Not Exactly Apple Pie

by Dorksidefiker



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Allusions to Child Abuse, Canon Typical Violence, F/M, M/M, death of OCs and canon characters, use of OC characters in important roles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-05
Updated: 2012-12-05
Packaged: 2017-11-20 09:07:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 30,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/583639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dorksidefiker/pseuds/Dorksidefiker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel's been given a shot at redemption, Dean's been given another chance at fatherhood, and Sam's not sure if this is a good idea. A story of family, choices, redemption, and obnoxious preteens.  Originally written for the Dean/Cas Big Bang (2012), and the art can by found <a href="http://imgur.com/a/rO8Sz">here</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. But I feel a change coming on, rolling out of the blue like a storm

**Author's Note:**

> Supernatural and all related characters? Completely not mine. I'm just borrowing them for a little bit, and I promise to put them back in the same condition I found them.
> 
> Quietly ignoring all of Season 7 in this story, with the exception of most of 701, so there are mild spoilers for everything up through there.
> 
> A thousand thanks to scarab_dynasty: beta reader, cheerleader... enabler. And another thousand to kenupntr, the artist who makes my work look so much better.

 

Part I  
 _But I feel a change coming on, rolling out of the blue like a storm_

_“I'm so sorry, kiddo.”  
  
Castiel wheels around, tattered trench coat flaring out around him as the shadows of his wings beat against the air of this place, slightly out of synch with reality. “You're _ sorry?” _he hisses, feeling the rage welling up in him. In this moment, he does not care who he is addressing, or that it will likely end in him being scattered into a billion little pieces across the cosmos, or that he might never exist at all. He is weak as a newborn... no. Weak as a dying thing, which is what he truly is. The souls of Purgatory have destroyed him in one last act of spite, even as he forced them back. Perhaps that is why he speaks as he does. For the first time in his existence, he truly has nothing left to lose. “All of this, everything I have fought and died for, it was never anything but a cruel joke. You come to me_ now _and you tell me you're_ sorry _?” His knees give out, and his vision grows dim. Castiel is faintly aware of Dean shouting his name. The man's voice his raw, filled with a lifetime of pain and regret. Dean will blame himself for what Castiel has done, because that is what Dean does, and Castiel doesn't even have the time left to correct him.  
  
And there his Father stands before him, looking sadly down at Castiel, laying both hands on the dying angel's shoulders as he kneels down so they're eye to eye. “That was your choice, Cas,” he whispers, smoothing Castiel's hair back. “It's always been your choice. You understand that so much better than the rest of them.” His Father's hand is cool and Castiel's skin is burning hot, like he's going to burst into flames at any moment. Another set of hands grip Castiel tightly by the arms. Dean, clinging desperately to him, uttering his name before turning his attention to God. The ringing in Castiel's ears is too loud now; he can't even hear what Dean is saying, though he can guess that the words he turns on the Creator are not kind ones. His Father is unphased by them, and his expression is gentle.  
  
Castiel has so many regrets, so many things he wants to make right. He knows that he's leaving yet another wound on Dean Winchester's soul, and all he wants is just _ one more chance _to fix it._  
  
Just one more chance, so he could make amends.  


 

***

  
  
Dean Winchester drummed his fingers on the steering wheel of the Impala before turning to look at the angel in the back seat through narrowed eyes. Castiel was staring out the window at the run down apartment building – little more than an ugly concrete box – watching the stream of children getting off the school bus. Dean turned his eyes to Sam, who looked decidedly uncomfortable. “How long are we gonna play Creepy Pedo?” Sam finally asked, giving voice to his discontent. “I mean, we don't even know who we're _looking_ for, Cas.”  
  
“ _I_ know. But the child isn't there,” Castiel finally told them, frustrated. “The school's let out, but the child is not here.”  
  
“After school program?” Sam suggested.  
  
“Detention?” Dean suggest to Castiel at the same time. The brothers exchanged a look, and Dean grinned.  
  
“Then we must go to the school.” Castiel answered, turning a slightly peevish look on the Winchesters.  
  
“Great plan,” Dean muttered. “You can barely figure out where the kid lives, and you wanna go find where he goes to school.” He turned in his seat, head tilted to bestow on Castiel his best _you moron_ look. Castiel had the good grace to look faintly ashamed, which only served to make Dean feel a stab of guilt. It wasn't like Cas was running at full strength any more; part of the price the angel had paid after declaring himself the new God.  
  
Still, it was better than how Cas could have ended up... dead or insane, or the only thing left in a dead universe.  
  
 _That_ had been what had finally gotten God to show himself, and even then He'd made his presence known only _after_ the dust had settled.  
  
Dean didn't actually _remember_ much about meeting God, and that was probably for the best when he thought about it (which he tried not to do often, because that brought up too many thought of how it all could have gone completely wrong, and how Dean almost lost Sammy and Cas, which he just _could not think about_ ). He had a vague recollection of a long winded speech about the importance of people making their own choices, the beauty of free will, and how the kids needed to behave like the adults He'd thought they were and stop expecting Daddy to clean up their messes. Dean suspected the memory would fade more and more, until it was nothing more than a distant dream.  
  
And God had given them a... reward, maybe? An _I'm sorry your life's been shit_ consolation prize, at least. He didn't fix everything ( _“If I did that, you'd just be my dolls that I take out for tea parties, so spare me the bitching.”_ ) but some things, He'd set right. Adam was free, Sam was whole in body and mind, and Castiel...  
  
Castiel was given a second chance, to redeem himself for almost ending all life in the universe. Because God was _proud_ of his angel for growing the balls to make his own decisions, and more importantly, to own up to them in the end. So God had sent them on their way with a clipped winged angel and a mission, if they chose to accept it.  
  
“So is this kid supposed to be the next Jesus Christ or what?” Dean wanted to know. “Are we the three wise men? Cause if we are, I call dibs on the gold.”  
  
Sam rolled his eyes skyward, silently asking the universe for the patience needed to deal with his brother and the angel. He watched the school bus pull away without really seeing it as children scattered, some heading for the apartment building, some walking away with friends or alone. Soon there were almost no people left at all, and that's when Sam saw Meg, standing on the cracked sidewalk with another woman and looking _pissed_ as she talked on a cellphone. Meg turned to her badly dressed companion, jabbing a finger at her leopard print covered chest while the woman took a step back, hands raised in the universal sign of 'I don't know what went wrong.'  
  
“Guys, I think we're not the only one looking for this kid,” Sam said, pointing out Meg and the woman even as the two got into a car that was _way_ too nice for the neighborhood and sped away. Dean swore, expressively and creatively, as he started the Impala and drove after them.  
  
“Dammit, just _once_ , could there be no demons?” Dean demanded to know, even though he knew neither of his companions could give him an answer that would make him happy.  


 

***

  
  
Sam and Dean had attended a _lot_ of schools in their lives, and despite having not been in them for years, they knew how to recognize the quality of a school. _This_ was not a good school; the building was at least seventy years old and in poor repair, with the bricks were dingy and crumbling with age, and weeds were pushing their way up through the pavement in the parking lot. There were bars on all the windows, making the building look even more foreboding. Sam had always dreaded ending up in schools like the one in front of him; the teachers were often apathetic, the other children disaffected and rarely interested in actually learning, the after school programs non-existent. Maybe a basketball team or something, but rarely the kind of things Sam had been interested in. Dean hadn't liked the schools much either; they were dangerous places, especially for new kids with no friends. This was the kind of school where parents were rarely involved, money was tight, and fights were frequent. Not even a playground attached to the campus.  
  
Meg's car stood out like a sore thumb, all shiny and new and very empty. Meg and her tacky new friend had beaten them there despite Dean's driving, but at least they'd managed to find the place.  
  
Cas was out of the Impala and through the school doors as soon as Dean parked, leaving the Winchesters to scramble after him.  
  
That was when they found the first body; a woman in a faded floral print dress soaked in blood. Someone or something had smashed her face against the wall beside the front entrance until it had been reduced to an unidentifiable mess, with bits of blood, hair, and bone sticking to the plaster. There was a little office beside the door with bullet proof glass that would allow anyone inside to observe who was coming and going freely; the glass had been punched through, and the woman had been dragged out through the hole, if the deep gouges on her skin and the tears on her dress were any indication. The woman had probably been in there when Meg and whoever came with her had arrived.  
  
Deeper in the school, Sam and Dean could hear people screaming, some voices deep and adult, some of them high and young in a way that made Dean's guts twist into knots. Cas had already disappeared deeper in to the school, so Sam and Dean just followed the screams.  
  
  
  
Unlike the Winchesters, Castiel actually had an idea of where he was going. He could feel the pull of his duty, drawing him like a loadstone. It was the same pull that had brought Castiel to this city, to the apartment where the child lived, but stronger now that it was so close. A fresh scent after so long dealing with something stale. Castiel could have cursed his Father for not just _telling_ him where the child was, or why it was so important. But Father was ineffable, and Castiel had once again come to accept that fact. It was hard to be angry at someone who was willing to give you another chance after you almost destroy the universe, after all.  
  
Castiel burst through a set of double doors and found himself in the school gym, the stench of blood and offal filling his nose. There had been children there when the demons had come, and they'd had no real chance. Some of the children had died running, others probably hadn't even had the chance to runs. Most were young girls, all wearing the same red and gold outfit, but there were others, boys and girls not in the uniform. Large chunks of fallen plaster were soaking up the blood from where they had fallen from the ceiling.  
  
It was too late for the children, and Castiel could not afford to spare them much thought. Even as he had burst into the gym, the demons who had slaughtered the children were breaking down another door that lead off from the gym. There were two of them, both dusted with plaster and soaked in blood. One wore a sweater vest that might have once been blue, and the other wore a track suit.  
  
They never saw Castiel coming, as intent as they were on their prey.  
  
Castiel wasn't what he once was, but he was still an angel, and smiting came as easily to him as breathing. His hands closed over the heads of the demons, letting the raw power of his Grace surge forth to burn away the evil wearing stolen flesh. The two bodies fell lifelessly to the ground, giving Castiel access to the forced open door. Someone had shoved a rack of weights in front of the door; it'd been knocked over by the demons when they'd battered it down. The room was filled with benches and weights, and it smelled of old, stale sweat. There was only one person in the room, a girl no older than the ones who had died in the gym, balancing precariously on top of one of the benches, a pocket knife in her hand as she worked desperately at an air vent cover. Castiel climbed over the fallen rack of weights as the girl lost her balance, desperately tugging at the air vent cover to get it to come off, falling to the concrete floor hard enough to knock the air out of her. The girl scrabbled back from Castiel until her back hit the wall, dirty blonde hair escaping her ponytail and falling in her face as she looked up at him.  
  
In that moment, Castiel understood just a part of his father's plan. The girl had managed to almost get the cover off the air vent before the demon had broken through her improvised barrier, and even as Castiel watched her, fear and rage mingling on her freckled face, he knew that she was already thinking of how she could get away. A short lifetime flashed through Castiel's head, telling him everything he needed to know; _Zoe McGrudder, bloodline of of the Michael Sword._  
  
Her eyes were green, like her father's.  
  
In spite of himself, Castiel found the old words coming to his lips, meant to soothe or at least to keep people from fleeing in terror. Angels had spoken the words to the sons Adam and daughters of Eve since the beginning, and even in his fallen state, they came to him. "Be not a-"  
  
The little dumb-bell would have hit Castiel right in the face if he hadn't seen it coming and gotten out of the way. The girl didn't stay stop to see if the dumb-bell had connected; she scrambled past Castiel as he dodged the weight, like a cat running for cover.  


 

****

  
  
“You run, and you don't stop running,” Dean told the boy urgently as he helped the kid out the window, into the waiting arms of the teacher. Sam was guarding the art room door, clutching one of the iron bars that been pried free to let the group Sam and Dean had found cowering in the art room get out. Sam had hastily slapped together a Devil's Trap with some chalk to guard the escape. Dean stayed by the window, watching the teacher shepherd his students away from the deathtrap of a school. “We need to find Cas.”  
  
Dean didn't like the idea of Cas being in the damn school alone. It hadn't taken long for Sam and Dean to realize there more demons there than just Meg. This place, Dean knew, was going to haunt his dreams for a long time go come.  
  
And Cas, that _idiot_ , had just taken off on his own to fulfill a damn mission from God while he was weak as a damn kitten. He was gonna get himself killed all over again, and Dean just couldn't take that. He'd worked too damn hard for Cas to get himself killed this _stupidly_ , so if anyone was gonna kill Cas, it was gonna be Dean... very likely over this bout of stupidity. After all those years of God jerking everyone around, now Cas was playing the happy little minion again.  
  
All Dean wanted to do was get this damn kid safe, get out of town, and deprogram Cas.  
  
“ _Hey!_ ”  
  
A kid raced right past Sam and Dean as they left the temporary sanctuary of the art room, ducking low to avoid Sam's arm and skidding around the corner.  
  
“Stop her!” Castiel came tearing down the hall, coat flapping behind him. “Before she gets herself killed!” There was a certain exasperation in the angel's voice, like chasing down reluctant humans was an old, frustrating chore that he was used to.  
  
Dean decided that he didn't really want to think about the implications of that. Luckily for him, the next corner found himself face to face with Meg and her black eyed buddies, including the woman she'd been with at the apartment building. There was a moment where the whole world just _stopped_ , like everything was waiting to see who would move first.  
  
“Sorry boys, don't really have time to play right now,” Meg said cheerfully. “Can't let the sweet little moppet miss her last chance to be with her Mommy, now can I?” She smiled like a shark as before dashing down the hall with the woman in tow. “You boys play nice now!” she called as her other minions went for Castiel and the Winchesters.  


 

***

  
  
They caught up with the girl in the basement of the school, past anemic shelves of supplies and in what was probably – judging from the battered couches, desks, and a make-shift kitchen – the teacher's lounge. Zoe had already locked and blocked up the door as the angel and the Winchesters arrived. Somehow, in spite of everything, they'd managed to beat Meg there, but only just; Castiel could hear the sound of the demon's heels clicking on the worn concrete floor. The door proved surprisingly sturdy, refusing to break down under the assault of Sam, Dean, and Castiel, so Dean turned his efforts towards picking the lock, cursing Meg, demons in general, the girl, whoever had decided to turn the teacher's lounge into a fortress, and God. Castiel chose not to comment on anything Dean had to say, instead trying to find another way in while Sam tried breaking the lounge's windows with a fire extinguisher.  
  
There were two ways out of the teacher's lounge; three if you counted the air vent Zoe was trying to get opened. Both doors were locked, with a ratty couch pushed in front of the door Dean was picking the lock of, and a desk shoved against the other, keeping Meg and the woman she'd brought with her out as effectively as the Winchesters had been blocked; if the windows on both teacher's lounge doors hadn't been barred, it wouldn't have even been an issue for any of them. As it was, Castiel blessed the fact that at least Meg couldn't get in either. Only--  
  
The woman -- the _demon_ with Meg pressed her hands to the glass and called out, "Zoe, honey! Don't worry, it's all gonna be okay, I won't let anyone hurt you." She edged past Meg, her face a mask of motherly concern. “C'mon, baby girl, we gotta get outta here.”  
  
And that, Castiel realized, was that. The girl would run to the loving embrace of her mother and right in to Meg's clutches, where she would die just as the other children had, or worse. Meg would probably want to take her time. Castiel had failed before he had really begun.  
  
"Dammit!" Dean snarled at the lock, which remained stubbornly unopened.  
  
Zoe turned sharply, nearly tumbling off the chair she'd stacked on top of the other desk to let her reach then vent, pocket knife coming away from the loosened screws. Her mouth dropped open for a moment, then snapped shut. "I don't know who the hell you are, but you are _not_ my mom."  
  
“I wonder who you inherited your brains from, kiddo,” Meg said, equally amused and exasperated as she started breaking the door down. Dean made a jubilant noise as the lock finally popped open, and Castiel pushed the door open hard enough to shove the couch out of the way and let him get in. Zoe remained balanced on her wobbling make-shift ladder, tottering dangerously as she took a swipe at the angel with her pocket knife when he came close. Castiel ignored the poorly aimed attack, wrapping a hand around one of Zoe's ankles and willing her to _sleep_.  
  
Dean was the one who caught the girl as she fell, unconscious and limp. He shot Castiel a look that told him that as soon as they were out of danger, there was going to be a loud, angry talk about all the bullshit they were being put through, but Castiel knew he had a bit of time yet before he would be forced to explain; no matter how angry, no matter how badly Dean wanted answers, he would never leave a child in danger. Meg was screaming  


 

***

  
  
"She's awake," Cas announced. Nothing about Zoe had actually changed; she was still laying bonelessly on her side where Dean had put her on the bed, eyes closed and mouth slightly open. It'd been nearly two hours since Cas had put her under before their escape from the school, and an hour since Dean had announced that he'd had enough of sitting around and was going out for food, leaving Sam alone with Cas and the unconscious Zoe. Cas had perched on the edge of the bed, unmoving as a statue the entire time, every answer to Sam's attempts at conversation monosyllabic; the only information the angel had given up easily was the little girl's name. Personally, Sam was willing to bet that Dean had left to keep himself from blowing up at Cas for being so damn quiet. Not secretive, exactly, but it was pretty clear he wasn't ready to spill why the girl on the bed was so important. Eventually, Sam's thoughts had turned to how they were going to handle the whole sleeping thing; he _really_ wasn't looking forward to that conversation with Dean. Honestly, it was an easier problem to deal with than _'What the hell are we gonna do with this kid?'_  
  
Still, Sam had no reason to doubt Cas's statement, so he got up from his laptop and approached the bed, crouching beside the girl. He could just make out the glitter of eyes through her eyelashes when he got close. "Hey, there. You okay?" Sam's hand closed on Zoe's thin shoulder, and that's when she moved, rolling away and swinging her legs around and up, the filthy sole of her shoe smashing in to Sam's nose.  
  
  
  
  
"I'm okay," Sam insisted once again, holding the ice pack to his nose in an effort to stop the swelling. Dean grumbled something that was probably meant to be 'No you're not', shooting a dark glance across the motel room. Zoe was sitting against the headboard, with Cas standing between the Winchesters and the girl. Dean was glad they'd thought to take her pocket knife away, locking it in the trunk; if she'd had it, she probably would have tried to stab Sam instead of just kicking him.  
  
Dean would find Sam's blackened eyes and swollen nose funny later. He was already composing jokes about Sam getting beaten up by little girls, to be gleefully doled out once they'd gotten the kid somewhere safe and they could leave this whole mess behind them. "Some gratitude. We saved your life, you know."  
  
Zoe glared sullenly around Cas. " _Why_?"  
  
“Wouldn't I like to know,” Dean muttered, _sotto voce_ , to Sam, who in turn gave Cas a grim look. They'd all agreed, no more secrets, no more lies meant to protect each other, because those lies had a nasty way of coming back to bite the three of them on the ass. Zoe's glare moved from Dean to Cas, putting all eyes on the angel. Cas looked around the room, grimacing slightly before turning to address his answer to Zoe.  
  
“I am an angel of the Lord, and I have been tasked to watch over you, Zoe McGrudder. You are the latest of an old bloodline, and that has put you in considerable danger.” Castiel looked briefly over his shoulder at Dean, licked his lips, and said, “You are of the bloodline chosen to be the vessels of the Archangel Michael.”  
  
The announcement was met with silence, as the three mortals in the room digested this new information.  
  
"Bullshit,” Zoe and Dean concluded at the same time.


	2. And for him this life is made of time and choices

 

 

 

 

Part II  
_And for him this life is made of time and choices_

__  
Truthfully, Castiel had been hoping for a better reaction, or at least not an immediate rejection of the truth. Sam hadn't weighed in yet, but he had that look on his face that Castiel had come to know all too well; the younger Winchester would have a lot to say, just as soon as he had sorted out what he wanted to say _first_. Dean had risen from his seat, mouth locked into an angry scowl as he approached Castiel. “You better start explaining, Cas,” he growled, voice low as he shook his head.  
  
“There's no such thing as angels,” Zoe spat. While Dean had been closing in on Castiel, the girl had gotten off the bed, keeping her back to the wall as she eyed the exits. “You're fucking nuts.” Sam moved, blocking her path to the door. To get to the windows, she would have to get past both Dean and Castiel, and the look on her face made it clear that she _knew_ that. Dean seemed willing to let his need for answers go for the moment, moving to keep Zoe penned in. There was the bathroom, but Castiel knew the window there was too small even for the girl to squirm through. She was trapped, and Castiel could see that she was ready to fight her way out.  
  
She wouldn't stand a chance against any one of them, let alone all three. Castiel's hand rose slowly; he only had to lay a hand on Zoe to render her unconscious again and stop her from running. He had only just _found_ the damn child, he wasn't about to just-  
  
_“There are a lot of choices that need to be made. I'd like this kid alive to make some of 'em.”_  
  
Of course. For all of Father's ineffable ways, sometimes he actually made things _very_ obvious.  
  
Castiel's hand dropped back to his side. “We won't stop you from leaving.”  
  
“The hell we won't!” Dean grabbed Castiel's shoulder, spinning the angel around to face him. “We just _found_ the damn kid!”  
  
Castiel lifted Dean's hand gently from his shoulder, gesturing for Sam to step away from the door. “This has to be Zoe's decision,” he explained, pulling Dean further away from the girl. “We cannot _force_ her to do anything. If you've taught me anything, it's _that_.”  
  
Sam, thankfully, did as Castiel asked, though it was with clear reluctance. There was nothing between Zoe and the door. She eyed the three men suspiciously, edging towards the door. Dean made a noise of protest, but Castiel moved between the man and the girl. Zoe ran the last few feet, darting out the door and slamming it behind her. Sam gave the shut door a surprised look, as if he couldn't believe the child had _actually_ left.  
  
“You've gotta be shitting me,” Dean growled. “Dammit, Cas!”  
  
“She's got nowhere to go,” Sam pointed out, grabbing his jacket. “Her mom's been possessed by a demon, _Meg's_ after her, and you just let her _walk out_? I'm going after her.”  
  
“And then we can fight this fight over and over again,” Castiel pointed out dryly.  
  
“Personally, I'm a little more interested in this whole Bloodline of Michael thing.” Dean folded his arms across his chest, puffing up in that way he often did when he was trying to be intimidating, never mind that it never really worked on Castiel.  
  
“I should think that would be obvious.” Really, it felt like Dean was being dense on purpose. “For all the efforts of the cupids, those of Michael's line has a tendency to throw themselves at impossible situations, and they die young. Maybe Zoe is someone else's daughter, but there are still only three possibilities... well, two. I believe Adam is too young to have possibly fathered the girl.” The look Castiel turned on Dean was pointed. “I think I understand why Father gave me this task,” he added, perking up just a little. For the first time in so long, Castiel's world made _sense_ , and it was a _wonderful_ feeling. Dean could glower and growl all he liked.  
  
“Either way, you just let the kid _walk out the door_ -” Dean stabbed a finger at the door as it swung back open. Zoe slipped inside the motel room, shutting the door behind her but not taking her hand off the handle. Dean faltered, and Sam took a step back.  
  
“My mom's been replaced by a pod person, the gym teacher ate the cheer squad in front of me, and something out there wants me dead,” Zoe grumbled, lips pursed. “Plus, I don't even know how to get home from here... not that that's safe, thanks to Pod Person.” She shrugged, letting go of the handle but staying at the door. “And I want my knife back.”

 

 

 

 

***

  
  
“This is gonna get us in such deep sh-” Sam stopped himself, glancing towards Zoe, who was sitting cross legged on the bed with a pair of headphones in her ears. The music was turned up loud enough that Sam could just barely hear the crashing drums and wailing vocals whenever he needed to pass close, and she wore an expression of studied indifference. Not that she was fooling Sam one bit; he knew she was watching the three of them closely. “Look, all I'm saying is _someone's_ gonna notice she's missing.”  
  
“She is here of her own free will,” Cas reminded Sam with a touch of smugness. It was all Sam could do to _not_ hit is head against the table.  
  
“She's _ten_ , Cas. Legally, she can't make that decision.”  
  
“Twelve,” Cas corrected, earning him a bitchface from Sam.  
  
“ _Not_ the point.” Sam leaned back in his chair, looking to Dean for backup. His brother was staring out the window, a thousand miles away. No help there. “What are we even supposed to do with her now that we've rescued her?”  
  
“We kill Meg.” Dean finally joined in the conversation, something that was almost a smile flashing across his face. “That bitch has been a pain in our asses from day one. So we gank her, exorcise the mom, and save the day.” He turned in his chair, raising his voice so he could be heard over Zoe's music. “Hear that, kid? We're gonna get your mom back.”  
  
Zoe pulled one of the buds out of her ear. “First of all, I have a name, and it's not 'her' or 'kid'. It's _Zoe_. Second, I don't care _what_ you do to my mom. The Pod Person was an _improvement_.” The bud was almost back to her ear before she added, “And I _still_ want my knife back.”

 

 

 

 

***

  
  
Twelve hours in to the drive to Bobby's, and Dean Winchester was ready to stop the car at the next bridge and toss Zoe over the side. When she wasn't glaring sullenly out the window of the Impala (and the kid could Sullen for the _Olympics_ ), she was mocking Sam or Dean or Cas (Sam had swiftly become her favorite target once she'd realized that most of what she said went right over Cas' head, and Dean responded by growling threateningly when he bothered to respond at all) or bitching about the music, or whining that she needed to _pee_. She'd finally given up on trying to get her knife back, dividing the time she had spent on that between her other four hobbies. On any other day, Dean might have been willing to mock back, or try to tease her out of her bad mood, but the truth was, Dean was too pissed off.  
  
It was going to be another two and a half days until they reached Bobby's – maybe longer, thanks to the frequent breaks – and Dean didn't think Zoe was going to live that long.  
  
“I need to pee.”  
  
_She's human, I won't kill her, that would be wrong._ Those words had become Dean's mantra several miles back. Without a word, Dean pulled to the side of the road. He could feel the weight of Sam's bitchface on him, even without seeing it. “Fine, go.”  
  
“Dean-”  
  
“If she needs to go so bad, she can go there.” Dean nodded to the trees that lined the road. “He expected a protest from the back seat, a demand that they go on to the next rest stop. Instead, the back door swung open and slammed shut, and out the window Dean saw Zoe darting into the clump of trees. Sam snickered, and Cas looked confused.  
  
“The next rest stop is only a few miles away, and we need more gas,” the angel commented, leaning over the front seat to point at the fuel tank gauge.  
  
“Dean,” Sam chuckled, “was trying to prove who's in charge.”  
  
“Shaddup, Sammy.” Dean growled. “That ain't normal. What kind of girl pees in the woods?”  
  
“Humans have been peeing in the woods for as long as there have _been_ humans,” Castiel pointed out irritably. “Perhaps you could hold off on your games of dominance until _after_ we get to Bobby's?”  
  
Zoe slipped back into the back seat, watching Dean through the rear view mirror. He'd expected the girl to look smug, but instead she just looked bored. Dean drove on without another word.

 

 

 

 

***

  
  
Cas was waiting outside the motel room when Dean returned from his bar run. Sam was still there, working the pool table, but Dean was feeling too restless for hustling.  
  
“Shouldn't you be babysitting?”  
  
“Zoe's asleep. I think we need to talk.”  
  
Dean shook his head with a disgruntled sigh. “What's to talk about? We stash the kid at Bobby's, _finally_ end Meg, then send the kid back to her mom. Nothing to it.”  
  
“I don't think it's going to be that simple, Dean.” Cas grimaced. “Assuming Joanne survives the possession-”  
  
Dean held up a hand, mind working frantically to put a face to a name. “Who?”  
  
“Zoe's mother,” the angel filled in helpfully. “Assuming she survives, Meg is just one of many who will be after the girl.” Cas looked past Dean, expression thoughtful. “I cannot leave her unprotected, but I no longer have the resources I once did.” The angel paused like he was gathering his thoughts.  
  
“There a point in there somewhere?” Dean demanded to know, a little ball of dread forming in his gut. He knew what Cas was going to say next, well before he finally spit it out.  
  
“Zoe and I will go our own way in the morning.”  
  
“ _Fuck that_.” Dean closed in on Cas, grabbing him by the lapels of his coat. “We _just_ got you back, I'm not gonna let you run off again!”  
  
Carefully, Cas put his hands on top of Dean's, making him let go. “You object to Zoe's presence, and I won't just leave her and trust that she'll be alright just because we've dealt with the first threat. I am not so _naive_.” The angel pursed his lips, looking up at the night sky as if he could find the answers he needed there. Hell, maybe he could. “It is my task, and I won't burden you with it.”  
  
“You don't know the first thing about taking care of a kid!”  
  
"Your father raised both you and Sam while traveling and hunting," Cas argued, not yet willing to let go of his plan. “And Zoe is considerably older than you or your brother were at the time. I believe we will manage.”  
  
"That is _no_ way to raise a kid, and you know it," Dean growled. "Hell, Cas, look at me! I'm six different shades of fucked up, and that girl's a big enough mess as it is." He saw Cas's raised eyebrows and the inquisitive tilt of his head and went on, "You think I don't know what I'm seeing when I look at her? The clothes are straight out of the Salvation Army donation bin, she cuts her hair herself, she eats like she's afraid the food's gonna disappear, she's starting to _stink_ because she doesn't trust _us_ enough to take a damn shower, and if she misses her mom at all, she's doing a hell of a job hiding it." Dean combed his fingers through his hair, looking away from Cas. "Taking her on the road is probably the worst thing you could do."  
  
"You seem to have turned out alright."  
  
"Cas, your idea of 'alright' is goddamn scary. You can't do this yourself, so stop talking stupid." Dean sighed again, the weight of all his years of hunting threatening to crush him, and he slung an arm around Cas's shoulders to support himself. “I'm too drunk and too tired for this,” he murmured, fumbling the door knob open. “I don't wanna hear another word about the kid till checkout.” Cas smelled faintly of the drive thru burgers they'd picked up for dinner, and more strongly of ozone and something musty. Not unwashed human – which he _should_ have smelled like, since he never changed his clothes. More like a stuffed bird Dean had gotten a whiff of once.  
  
The motel room, to Dean's surprise, smelled like cheap soap, and was warm and humid the way those kinds of rooms could get after someone ran the shower.  
  
“Oh thank God,” Dean whispered, “it _does_ wash after all.”  
  
Cas snorted, urging Dean towards the bed that didn't have a lump already under the covers.  
  
“So damn tired, Cas,” Dean groaned as the lump in the other bed shifted, sitting down heavily. It felt like the last few days were finally catching up with him as he tugged off his books. He could _feel_ Cas's eyes on him, and he just _knew_ that if he looked up, he'd see the angel's head tilted quizzically to one side. “When Sammy shows up, tell him he gets the chair tonight.”

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

 

If Dean's reflexes had been even a little slower, they would have been nothing more than a collection of twisted metal and wet smears on the pavement. As it was, the massive big rig truck only clipped the front end of the Impala as Dean tried to turn his car out of the truck's path, sending it spinning across the wet pavement of the country road and into the corn field.

“Stay in the car!” Dean barked when the Impala halted, struggling to get out. Sam was shaking his head to clear it, muttering about demons repeating their tricks even as he climbed out and staggered towards the trunk. Cas, damn him, looked completely unphased as he got out, the rain just sliding off him as it came down.

“Damn it, what part of 'we want them _alive_ did you not understand, Jerry?”

“They're alive! See, they're even moving.”

“I hope Meg lets me eat your liver while you watch.”

The two demons clamored of the big rig, apparently not the least bit concerned about the two hunters or the angel. Thunder rumbled ominously as the rain pelted down, like the whole universe was determined to make things as hard on Dean as possible.

“We only need the kid and the big one alive, and I bet we don't even need 'em whole. I mean, _sure_ , Meg wants 'em all, but she only _needs_ those two. And really, trying to capture an angel is just _borrowing_ trouble, so lets just kill these fuckers, cut the legs off the big guy, and go.”

A shot rang out in the night, missing Dean as he dug through the trunk only because he _wasn't_ the kind of complete idiot who'd just stand around while people who were trying to kill him yammered away. He already had his shotgun in hand, and he returned fire even as he dodged for cover behind the Impala, whispering apologies for the abuse he car was taking. He couldn't see the demons clearly, with the dark and the rain, but a shotgun didn't _need_ precision. He fired, the gun roaring like the thunder.

“Son of a bitch! I don't care which one that was, I'm setting him on _fire_!”

Dean could hear Sam firing from wherever he'd gotten to, and he'd lost track of Cas. From where Dean had taken cover, he could see Zoe crouching low in the back seat, a steak knife from the the Biggersons where they'd stopped for dinner that first day clutched in her hands.

That explained why she'd stopped demanding her knife back. “Dammit, am I gonna have to frisk you?”

Zoe raised her middle finger, laying down on the floor of the Impala as Dean fired again. Sam came around to Dean's position, handing him one of the pistols he'd grabbed out of the trunk before they'd had to dive for cover.

“I want one of those!” Zoe poked her head up, glaring at Sam and Dean through the window.

The cab of the big rig exploded in a ball of flames, cutting off the argument as it illuminated the three figures in the waist high corn. The demons were turning towards the explosion while Castiel stood in front of the flaming truck, framed by the shadow of his wings. Even after all the years, all the things Dean had seen in his life, the sight of the shadow of those wings gave him chills. He'd asked Cas about them once, but like always the angel had proved evasive on the subject; his wings could not be perceived by mortal eyes, only the effects of them. Dean had thought they would have shrunk with Cas's loss of power, but the truth was they were as all enveloping as ever, like the storm clouds rolling over the sky and blotting out the stars. In that moment, Castiel was magnificent.

He was also a _huge_ distraction, and one Dean was more than happy to take advantage of. Sam and Dean emptied their pistols in to one of the demons while Castiel split the other one open with his angel sword, slicing through the black smoke as the demon tried to escape it's body.

The thunder rolled as Cas shrank in on himself, suddenly much smaller and more human, the rain plastering his hair to his skull. “Will the car still run?” the angel barked, dashing for the Impala.

“I sure hope so.” Dean looked at the damage done – front driver's side headlight smashed, with some nasty looking damage all around that, and it looked like if he pushed hard he could just make the front bumper fall off. And there was fucking corn stuck in _everything_. The engine was still running, but... “Oh, my poor baby.”

“We'll fix it when we get to Bobby's.” Sam shook Dean by the shoulder. “We're almost there, but we gotta go!” Neither of them brought up the fact that the demons had been _waiting_ for them, had been expecting them to head for Bobby's and had set a trap for them.

“No shit, Sammy.” Dean climbed back in, pulling back into the road while Sam called Bobby.

“You really are an angel,” Zoe whispered. Dean glanced in the rear view mirror to see Cas slumped against the door, the girl resting her hand on Cas's arm. Cas opened one eye, then closed it again, taking the knife from her and rolling down the window, tossing it out.


	3. That is when it seems we move in circles day to day, twist the drama of the play to get us by

 

Part III  
 _That is when it seems we move in circles day to day, twist the drama of the play to get us by_

_  
_Zoe stopped at the top of the stairs, looking down into Bobby Singer's basement. “I'm not going into a crazy redneck murder cellar,” she announced loudly, taking a very pronounced step backwards as she turned her head and looked up at Castiel. At the bottom of the stairs, Bobby turned around slowly, gazing first at the girl and then at Dean, who just shrugged.  
  
“Yeah, she's pretty much always like that.”  
  
“This is the safest room in the house,” Sam called. He was already down in the panic room, with fresh linens and Lysol. “Nothing can get you down here.”  
  
Cas laid a hand on Zoe's shoulder, steering her downward. “If we wanted you dead, you would _be_ dead, Zoe. You have nothing to fear from us.”  
  
“Way to be comforting, Cas,” Dean muttered as the stairs creaked under the weight of the girl and the angel.  
  
“Easy for _you_ to say. You're a fucking _angel_.” Zoe skirted around Dean and Bobby, glancing over her shoulder to the way back out. Dean made a show of getting out of the way, earning him a bemused look from Bobby as Zoe passed. “God, this place is creepy. Is that a chainsaw? _Is that a chair with shackles?_ ”  
  
The entire time, Dean watched as Zoe refused to let go of the sleeve of Cas's coat.  
  
On the plus side, Zoe had been pretty quiet since they were run off the road. On the minus, Dean didn't think he'd be able to separate the two with anything short of a hacksaw even when they did get rid of Meg.  
  
“Oh great. It's a crazy old redneck murder cellar man cave.”  
  
“Congratulations, Dean,” Bobby rumbled quietly, “it's another smartass Winchester.”  
  
“ _That_ isn't mine,” Dean hissed back, taking the stairs two at a time. Bobby looked to Sam, eyebrows raised, but the younger Winchester could only shrug and shake his head. This was a conversation neither brother wanted to have where the kid would be able to hear.  
  
Cas stepped out of the panic room, leaving Zoe inside, staring in mild horror at the Bo Derek poster on the wall. The angel followed Dean up the steps, with Bobby and Sam coming up after. “Should we be leaving her alone down there?” Sam asked worriedly.  
  
“We gotta talk, and I don't want her involved,” Dean snapped, heading for the kitchen to grab a beer.  
  
“Yeah, I _really_ wanna hear how you got into _this_ mess.” Bobby sat down, mouth twitching as he watched Dean give the way to the basement a dark look.  
  
“I wish _I_ knew what it is you want so badly to talk about.” Cas lingered back from the others, closest to the basement, but his eyes were on Dean.  
  
“How we're gonna gank Meg, for a start.” Dean raised his beer in a little salute before opening it. “Won't that be fun?”  
  
“Sounds like a real hoot,” Bobby commented, tipping his hat back a bit. “Someone wanna explain about the little smartass? Cause I bet there's a damn good story behind why she's camping out in my panic room.”  
  
“Didn't you already tell him all this, Sam?” Dean asked, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Do we really gotta go over this bullshit again?”  
  
“I got the basic idea, but I think it deserves expanding on.” Bobby raised a hand in the universal sign of _Gimme a damn beer_ , and Sam obliged him.  
  
Castiel tilted his head to once side, then grimaced as he shook his head. “I fail to see why you find this so funny. I have been given a mission from my Father-”  
  
“Who has _finally_ deigned to show himself,” Bobby noted dryly, “only to be stupidly vague and run off again, leaving us to clean up the mess. _Again_.” The old hunter tugged thoughtfully on the brim of his cap. “You idjits figure out what makes this kid so damn special, besides that patented Winchester charm?”  
  
“ _She's not mine_.” Dean finished his beer, tossing the bottle into the trash. “This is just the latest way the universe is dicking us around.”  
  
Cas shook his head slowly with a small noise of resignation; this was shaping up to be a variation of the same argument they'd been having the last few days, when time and privacy had allowed. “You can't deny that she's in danger, and Zoe _is_ the bloodline of the Michaelsword.”  
  
“Cause you've been so honest with us,” Bobby noted caustically, earning the older man a sharp look from Dean.  
  
“Cas is being dicked around like the rest of us,” Dean retorted defensively before going for another beer. He gave Bobby another sharp, searching look, then turned it on Sam. His brother looked away, but Bobby met him glare for glare. Cas turned away, coat rustling.  
  
“I'm going to check on Zoe.”  
  
The angel left the three men alone in the kitchen. Bobby's eyes followed him until he disappeared from sight, expression cool. “We're trusting him,” Bobby noted flatly, “after everything he did.”  
  
“Yup,” Dean agreed with false cheerfulness. Beneath it, even the most brain-dead bastard could have read the dangerous undercurrent lurking there, so Dean dropped the cheerful demeanor quickly. “Cause there ain't one of us at this table with clean hands.”  
  
“I'd rather keep Cas close by anyway,” Sam commented, quickly adding, “Not that I don't trust him, but-”  
  
“Not another word, Sammy,” Dean raised a finger in warning. “It's _Cas_ , and we got him back. Remember that.” He got up, lips pressed into a hard, bloodless line. “You know what we gotta do. I'm gonna get my baby back in shape.”  
  
And then there were two, the screen door slamming behind Dean. Sam leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temples. Bobby shook his head as if wondering how he'd managed to get involved in all this madness. “Alright, you been awful quiet, boy. What do _you_ think?”  
  
“About which part?” Sam groaned, raising a hand to tick points off on his fingers. “Do I think the kid is who Cas says she is? I think _he_ believes it... and yeah, there's a pretty strong resemblance. Do I think Dean's trusting Cas _way_ too easy after everything that happened? _Oh yeah._ Do I think something seriously _weird_ is going on here? Well, what else is new, and we need to keep an eye on it until we know what it is.” He grimaced at the sound of Dean swearing at the dead demons who'd dented his precious baby. “Do I think we should be going after Meg? Yes, which of course means you and I are going to be doing the actual research until we find something we can point Dean at.”  
  
“I was afraid you were gonna say that,” Bobby sighed.  


 

***

  
  
Dean considered the undamaged headlight in his hand, the metal cool against his palms. Castiel appeared in the garage, saying nothing as he watched Dean. Dean glanced up briefly; better than staring at the damage done to his poor car. “Where's the kid?”  
  
“Asleep.” Castiel hadn't actually been surprised – humans needed sleep, and eventually any of them would give in to the body's demands. The last twenty-four hours had been long and stressful; Sam had actually been dozing on the couch when Castiel had emerged from the basement to inspect Bobby's wards and shore them up. Dean set the headlight aside, surveying the damage done to the Impala. Not as bad as it could have been, but it _looked_ nasty. “I – I don't know what to do, Dean.”  
  
“They'll get over it.” Dean's tone was dismissive. “We've gotten through worse.” He plucked a stalk of corn free from the grill, tossing it onto the pile of stalks already cleared away. A glance at the angel told Dean that _he_ wasn't so sure. “Give it time.”  
  
“Until that time-”  
  
“I say we lock her in the panic room until this is over.” Dean pried another cornstalk free, eying the broken, caved in headlight in front of him.  
  
“A decent enough plan in the short term,” Cas conceded, “but in the long run...”  
  
Dean counted backwards from ten, something Sam had been encouraging him to do whenever he got mad. “You made it pretty clear this was your project, Cas. What do you wanna do?”  
  
“I wanted Zoe _trained_ ,” the angel said in a rush. “You and Sam and Bobby, you have the skills and knowledge that let you defeat Lucifer himself. I think – I _know_ those skills need to be passed on.”  
  
Dean dropped the ruined corn into the trash. “ _No one_ needs these skills. What the kid _needs_ is a normal life.”  
  
“Zoe is never going to _have_ 'normal', Dean.” Cas stepped between Dean and the Impala. “You've already seen what's happened, and it's not going to change, even when Meg is dead. Denying it won't change anything, and is far more likely to get a lot of people killed, including Zoe.”  
  
Dean's jaw clenched, and he inhaled sharply through his teeth. Counting back from ten wasn't going to help. “Why do you keep saying her name?” It'd been bothering him for days; Cas kept repeating the damn kid's name like Dean was gonna _forget_ or something.  
  
Cas's reply was a simple, placid, “Because you _don't_.” Then he left, coat rustling not unlike the gentle beat of invisible wings.  
  
Years ago, the first time Dean and Sam had tried to bring a puppy home with them, John had told them not to name it, because it wasn't staying. Dean had taken those words to heart; while Sam had kept trying, kept naming things and bringing them home with him until John took them away again, Dean had learned to keep his distance. _The dog, that guy, the hot chick at the bar.... the kid_. Names were only used or even remembered when it was useful to remember them.  
  
 _Don't name it, it's not staying._  
  
There hadn't been much in Dean's life that had stayed with him over the years. Cassie, Lisa, Ben, his mom and dad, Ellen, Jo – all gone now. He still had Sam and Bobby, and Cas wasn't going _anywhere_ if Dean had anything to say about it.  
  
And now...  
  
“Fuck.”  


 

***

  
  
Nobody said anything when Dean flopped down in one of the few clear chairs in Bobby's study late the next evening. There were still bits of corn clinging to his boots. Bobby had a phone cradled between his shoulder and his ear, and Sam was doing a damn good job of pretending to be glued to his laptop. “Any sign of Meg?”  
  
Sam clicked on something, not looking up. “Nothing since the stunt demons tried to turn us into road waffles. Right now, all we can do is keep our eyes and ears open for the usual portents.”  
  
Dean bit down on a growl. “Bobby, you got anywhere we can stash the kid, safe-like? Maybe a bank vault at the bottom of the sea?”  
  
“Idjit,” Bobby muttered softly, his expression not entirely unsympathetic as he cupped a hand over the receiver “I'm working on it-”  
  
“But Cas thinks he has to babysit her, and we can't let him run off on his own with his wings clipped,” Dean supplied glumly. “He wants to _train_ the kid.” There was something gratifying in Sam and Bobby's horrified expressions. Not even another day's exposure to Zoe, stomping about like Cas's obnoxious shadow had been enough to make any of them want to put her through that kind of shit. Sam and Bobby had born the brunt of it; even when Cas had stopped into the garage to do whatever the hell it was he'd spent most of the day doing, the kid had hung back, kicking up gravel and being sulky. “ _Yeah_.” He swung his legs around so they dangled over the side of the chair, earning him a glare and a swat to Dean's booted foot from Bobby. “Gimme a hunt, man. There's gotta be _something_ I can do.”  
  
“You could figure out why the washing machine keeps making that noise,” Bobby suggested. “Or get your kid to give back the knives she keeps filching.”  
  
Sam looked up from his laptop, his expression distant and thoughtful. “Cas may not be _completely_ wrong,” he said slowly, holding up a hand to forestall any protests. “I'm not talking about taking her on Rugarou hunts or anything like that. Parents put their kids in self defense classes all the time, and I'm not ready to bank on something not making a grab at the kid at the worst possible time. We don't have to teach her to _hunt_ exactly... and it'll keep Cas happy,” he added.  
  
“I _have_ a name. How many times do I gotta remind you?” Zoe appeared in view, a half eaten sandwich in her hand. Castiel wasn't hovering nearby for once, though no one doubted that he was nearby. Zoe took a bite of her sandwich, chewing slowly. “ _What'll_ make Cas happy?”  
  
“Nothing you need to worry about. Now give back the knives.”  


 

***

  
  
It took two days of thinking and arguing before Dean made the decent to Bobby's basement, not exactly brimming with joy over his purpose, but at least glad to have something to do while he waited for the parts to fix the Impala. He knew Zoe had retreated to the basement after a round of stomping around the house, glaring and muttering.  
  
 _A little hard work will do something about that attitude._ Dean's father had said that during some of Sam's more sulky moments, right before putting him to work on something back breaking and time consuming.  
  
He found Zoe in the Panic Room, standing in front of Bobby's poster and looking at it like it had personally offended her somehow. Dean let out a sharp whistle, drawing Zoe's attention before he tossed the cylinder full of salt to the girl. She caught it awkwardly, nearly dropping it twice before getting a firm grip and shooting Dean a dirty look, to which Dean just smirked. "Welcome to Hunting 101, kid. Lesson One: why salt is your new favorite thing in the whole damn world."  


 

***

  
  
It was Sam’s idea to use tag as a way to train Zoe, and so Dean made sure that it was Sam who had to go out there in the maze of old junkers that cluttered up Bobby’s property the way old books and artifacts cluttered up his home. The two came in late that day, both exhausted, filthy, and beat up. Zoe was covered in large paint hand prints, and Sam sported a split lip and a bitten hand, but no paint beyond a few random blotches, mostly splatter in his own color. The paint had been Castiel's idea, though he didn't really explain why.  
  
“She climbs,” Sam muttered darkly as Zoe retreated to the bathroom to treat her own wounds. “Thought she was gonna break her neck out there. And she's a _biter_.”  
  
“But she didn’t get you,” Dean noted.  
  
“Only with her teeth.” Sam looked indignant. It was weeks before Zoe was actually able to get a paint hand print on the experienced hunter, her tiny hand wrapping around Sam's ankle before he had the chance to notice her, hidden under one of Bobby's junkers. After the second time using that trick, Sam stopped letting her get that kind of advantage, keeping well away from any spot where a small girl could squeeze in and hide.  
  
In private, Sam pointed out that it was good for Zoe to know where to hide, just in case.  
  
Not long after that, Castiel volunteered to take Sam's place, saying that it was more important that Sam help Bobby in the hunt for omens.  
  
Cas never came in from a round with so much as a splotch of paint, but Zoe was always too tired to bitch about it, so Dean counting it as a blessing.  


 

***

  
  
_Castiel drifts through the house, a more substantial ghost than one typically saw. But nothing stirs as he passes through, not the dust in the attic, not Bobby sleeping fitfully in a bedroom that was easily as cluttered as all the other bedrooms that had been turned into storage. The whole house sleeps, even Sam (peacefully in the study) and Dean (restlessly in the living room). Even Zoe sleeps as Castiel passes through, curled up in one corner of the bed.  
  
Castiel's attention is on his work, the wards that cover every corner of the house. It's far easier to protect this place than it was protecting Sam and Dean in those early days when it was them against the whole of creation. Here, there is a threshold, and all the things Bobby has done to protect himself over the years. Even with the spells and protections carved into their ribs, hiding them from the eyes on Heaven, had only been good for letting them pass undetected from a distance. This was meant to be more than just 'Don't Look At Me'; this was supposed to keep anything and everything with dark intention from even being able to get _ close _. But no matter what he does, the very nature of Bobby's work keeps eating away at the protections, like the ocean eating away at the beach. There is only so much Castiel can do._  
  
Castiel doesn't sleep; his nights are spent shoring up the protections.  
  
During Dean's more fitful moments, he lingers by the man's side. They do not last, so he returns to his task until he is drawn back to Dean again.  


 

***

  
  
Dean was giving the Impala one last coat of wax when the girl poked her head around the garage door. The two studied each other before she stepped in, and a quick glance around told Dean that, for once, Cas wasn't shadowing her. Zoe worried her lower lip between her teeth a moment, hands shoved deep in her pockets. "If I ask you something, will you tell me the truth?"  
  
Dean turned the buffer off, eyebrows slowly rising. "Would you trust what I say?"  
  
"You're a lot less likely to blow smoke up my ass than Sam, if that's what you mean." Zoe shifted her weight from one foot to the other. "Cas... there's shit he's not telling me."  
  
Dean couldn't repress his rising smirk. "What, you don't think the sun shines outta his ass anymore?" It got him a dirty look from the girl, who soldiered on, ignoring Dean's smirk.  
  
"How does this Bloodline of Michael thing work?"  
  
Dean ran his tongue over his teeth, the words in his head jumbling around, fighting over which ones would get to be said first. "Kinda obvious, isn't it?" he asked, giving a little shrug as he turned to put the buffer away. His baby was gleaming like new under the overhead light, ready to hit the road once again.  
  
"Spell it out for me anyway."  
  
When Dean looked again, he found that Zoe had come almost within arms reach of him, watching him expectantly. "Okay." Dean ran a hand over his face, holding back a grimace. It was like with Ben, when he'd first moved in with the boy and Lisa, wanting to know all about what Dean had been doing. "Angels... angels gotta have a body, if they're gonna run around on Earth, and they're pretty limited on who they can use, especially an angel like Michael. He, uh, he doesn't have many people he could use, and whoever he uses has to agree to it. It's not like with demons, who can just take."  
  
"So y'all are raising me to be Michael's body?" Zoe asked warily. She'd taken a step back from Dean while she spoke.  
  
"Christ, no!" Dean felt a shudder of horror run through him. "Angels are dicks, kid."  
  
"Cas is an angel."  
  
"Well, Cas is different. The last time Michael took a body, he did it by tricking the poor dumb bastard while trying to strong arm the guy he actually wanted into doing the job, and he wanted to end the world over a pissing match with his brother." Dean raked a hand through his hair, crouching down so he was eye to eye with Zoe. "The last thing you wanna do is say yes to Michael. Even if he ever lets you go, he'll leave you a vegetable."  
  
"Is that what happened to Adam?" Zoe folded her arms low across her chest, and she looked... scared. Dean felt like someone had dumped a bucket of ice water over his head. The last time he'd seen Adam, his half brother had been walking away, telling them that if he never heard the name Winchester again in his life, he could die happy. Adam had spent even longer in the Pit than any of them, and while God may have restored him in body and soul, something like that left permanent scars on the mind. Adam would never be the boy he was before the ghouls had eaten him, even if he was doing his best to go back to the life he had before. Bobby had contacts keeping an eye on John Winchester's youngest son, just in case.  
  
"Who told you about Adam?" Dean found himself asking, eyes narrowing slightly. _Someone_ was gonna be getting an earful about telling the kid things she didn't need to know about.  
  
Zoe gave a little half-shrug, blowing a few strands of dark blond hair out of her eyes with a huffed breath. "I'm not deaf. I heard Sam and Bobby talking about him." She looked down at her shoes, then up again. "Is he my father?" Dean shook his head, and instead found himself confronted with the question he'd been dreading since Cas had dragged the girl into his life. Zoe looked everywhere but at Dean for a minute, as if asking the question was as hard for her as answering it would be for Dean. "Is it you?"  
  
"Dammit, Zoe-"  
  
When Zoe looked back up again, her face was schooled into careful expressionlessness. " _I told you_ , I heard Sam and Bobby talking about Adam. I know who he is to you." Her eyes were hard as she took another step back, drawing herself up to her full height. Dean stayed where he was, watching Zoe's lip curl in a sneer. "Doesn't matter." Then she was gone, kicking up little puffs of dust from the gravel as she ran.  



	4. Some humor here to fend off fear

 

Part IV  
 _Some humor here to fend off fear_

_  
_The washing machine died on a Thursday.  
  
Until that day, the old top loader had done an admirable job, rattling along and ruining hardly any loads at all until that final, fateful load of threadbare jeans. It didn't start spewing soap or dancing across the basement floor – nothing so amusing. Instead, the motor whined and died in a belch of black, oily smoke.  
  
Bobby cursed and threatened, but the washing machine refused to do more than tremble and smell like burned rubber and ruined clothes. After a great deal more swearing, Sam and Dean were sent off with a roll of quarters and garbage bags full of laundry, along with orders to make _sure_ the damn whites were kept separate.  
  
Castiel didn't pay much attention to the laundry itself; the cleaning of clothes was something that existed outside of his sphere, and interested him only as far as clean clothing was important to the well being of his people. The machine had served long and well, and some part of Castiel felt sure it could continue to do so; it just needed a little maintenance, a little help.  
  
How hard could it be? Castiel had rebuilt Dean Winchester from the smallest atoms. There had been a time when the angel could have snapped his fingers and restored the machine to the condition it had been when it had come from the factory.  
  
Twenty minutes of trying to work his will on the obstinate machinery reminded Castiel that he was no longer the angel he once was. The washer remained annoyingly broken, and Castiel was coming to realize that he didn't even know where to _start_ to make it work again. Everything that was _Dean_ had been burned into the very core of Castiel the moment he had laid his hand on the Righteous Man's soul; he had _known_ from that moment forward what he needed to restore Dean Winchester to the realm of the living. Somehow, he doubted the washing machine was going to be so obliging.  
  
“Are you having an aneurism or something?” Zoe asked. She'd perched on the basement stairs to watch Castiel, wearing one of Sam's t-shirt and what were probably Dean's jean's. Her clothes had been amongst that final load, and they hadn't gotten around to getting her anything new since they'd taken her from her school. Everything she wore was entirely too large on so small a girl, the shirt falling to her knees and the pants tightly belted to keep them up.  
  
“I'm trying to fix the washing machine.” For the moment, he let the machine be, joining Zoe on the basement stairs. His hands dropped between his knees, and he continued to study the washing machine.  
  
“ _Why_?”  
  
Castiel turned the question over in his head, considering his own motivations before finally settling on an answer. “I want to feel like I'm actually contributing something,” he admitted. “I seem to be good for little more than translating Bobby's more obscure texts and keeping you out of everyone's hair. There has been no sign of Meg since we got here-” And _that_ was deeply troubling. “-and I can't leave to go looking for her. When we face Meg, it must be on _our_ ground, on _our_ terms.”  
  
Zoe shifted her weight slightly, her expression thoughtful. “Is she really _that_ dangerous?”  
  
“Meg is the most dangerous kind of enemy you could face – smart and adaptable. And she is patient.” Castiel grimaced. “Something I should be working on, I suspect.” He rose gracefully to his feet. “Are you done sulking at Dean yet? You may need to talk to him about the state of your wardrobe. In any case, it's no more his fault than it is yours.”  
  
Perhaps not the best change of subject, but truthfully, Castiel was beginning to run out of patience with Zoe on the matter. No matter what Dean might say, or how little he might show it, Zoe's hostility upset him, making Dean more irritable than usual. Zoe and Dean had been doing little more than sniping at each other when they could bring themselves to speak to each other at all. It didn't make any kind of logical sense... but since when had logic had anything to do with family?  
  
“Screw him.” Zoe got up with far less grace than Castiel had, shoulders hunched at lips pursed like she'd been sucking on lemons. She scrambled up the stairs, and Castiel silently questioned his Father's wisdom in bringing such an obstinate child into his life. _Dean_ had been bad enough.  


 

***

  
  
There was a vampire nest in Port Angeles. Bobby let himself be amused by that fact for a minute before he started going through his contacts. The dumb bastard who'd found the next had made the mistake of thinking that just because the fang faces were willing to play into the fantasies of a bunch of teenage girls, they weren't dangerous. He'd been lucky to get out alive, even if he never used that hand again.  
  
After two hours of phone calls, Bobby admitted defeat, hanging up the phone on Garth rather than listen to the details of a damn Sasquatch hunt. There were only two hunters not busy or incompetent who could get to Washington fast.  
  
“Thank _Christ_ ,” Bobby sighed.  


 

***

  
  
“It's _vampires_ ,” Dean growled. “We can do vampires in our sleep.”  
  
“Cas says to never underestimate an enemy,” Zoe pointed out, not moving from the shelves of crap that filled one wall of the garage. Mostly, it was car parts salvaged from otherwise unsalvageable cars, but somehow those shelves managed to attract anything that Bobby had no immediate use for, but couldn't stand to get rid of. What the kid was _looking_ for amongst all that crap, Dean had no idea.  
  
“So you're talking to me again?”  
  
“Cas says that I should get over it.”  
  
Dean popped the trunk, hauling out the bags of laundry. “I'm gonna get real sick of hearing 'Cas says' _real fast_ , kid.” He tossed a couple of shopping bags in Zoe's direction. “Where _is_ he?”  
  
“Trying to fix the washer.”  
  
Dean stopped in the middle of opening the trunk's false bottom, turning slowly. There were some thoughts that just _didn't_ belong together. _Cas_ and _washing machine repair_ were definitely amongst those thoughts. Zoe pulled out a small motor, looking it over and comparing it to the piece of paper she had in one hand before putting it back. “Fixing the-” Dean shook his head, shutting the trunk. “You screwin' with me?”  
  
Zoe dug deeper into the shelves, hiking up her borrowed pants, her silence pointed. Dean rolled his eyes, nudging the shopping bags closer to Zoe. “I want my pants back,” he tossed off, heading inside. Sam and Bobby were doing their research thing, nothing he needed to get involved in just then, so he slipped into the basement.  
  
It looked like someone had exploded the washing machine across the basement, and Cas sat in the middle of it all. The angel had finally shed his coat, sleeves rolled up to his elbows to reveal lean, pale arms. There were already grease stains on the white dress shirt, and the tie had been thrown over Cas's shoulder. Cas looked amazingly _normal_ , like someone's dad talked into a home repair project. Cas was giving a thoughtful look to a worn out rubber belt, rubbing a particularly worn spot with his fingers. “I can fix it.”  
  
“We can get a new one,” Dean couldn't resist pointing out. “After we pull a Buffy on some vamps. C'mon, lets get this show on the road.”  
  
“I can fix it,” Cas repeated,” and you hardly need me to deal with vampires.”  
  
Dean dropped down on the steps, chin on his palm. “Last time I went vampire hunting, my soulless brother let me get bitten and turned.” Cas put the belt down, shoulders tensing beneath the shirt. Dean winced, wishing he'd never opened his mouth. “C'mon, road trip. No being cooped up in the house, no kids, a little righteous smiting... we can get burgers after.”  
  
Cas picked up the drum of the washer, running his fingers over the dents that had formed from years of things that hadn't belonged in the washer being dumped in. Dean waited, letting Cas do his brooding.  
  
“You gonna stop talking to me too?”  
  
“I'm trying not to say something regrettable.” Cas had a real talent for being snide when he wanted to be. “A talent that I hope will serve me well.”  
  
Dean let his head drop. “Come with us. Bobby can handle things here while-”  
  
“While you and Sam do your job and _I_ am reminded of how little I can _actually_ do, all the while leaving Meg a nice big opening to get at a defenseless child who she can then use to kill _you_ if she has a mind to.” The washer drum made an ominous noise under Cas's hands. “Or I can fix this.”  
  
Dean looked at the scattered parts of the washer, thinking hard. “How're the protections holding up?” he asked. “Since you're poking 'em every night.”  
  
“They aren't what they were,” Cas pointed out. “The protections I had in place from before continue to degrade despite my efforts, as do the ones that Bobby placed, though those are more easily replaced. Soon there will be nothing left but what any human could do.”  
  
“We 'mere humans' do pretty good on our own, in case you haven't noticed.” Dean couldn't help himself, but at least he scored something that _almost_ resembled a smile from Cas as the angel started picking at the bits of a dismantled motor. A question nagged at the back of Dean's mind, finally forcing it's way out. “These protections-”  
  
“The ones on Lisa and Ben are intact,” Cas supplied without further prompting. “What we do on a daily basis erodes the protections. Since it's highly unlikely that the Braedons are doing the same thing, they remain in place, just as the protections on Claire and Amelia do.”  
  
“Thanks, Cas,” Dean murmured, making the climb back up the stairs. Cas waved a and in a silent goodbye, thought he didn't return his attention to the washer until Dean was long gone.  


 

***

  
  
“You – get – back – here – and – die – like – a – man!” Dean huffed even as the vampire raced across the playground even as the vampire raced across the playground. Stupid lousy stinking _stupid_ vampire. Two days to track the bastards to where they'd actually holed up, and they'd moved in to wipe out the nest. The other two had put up a fight in the shiny new recreation center the idiots had made their lair, the very place where they did most of their hunting, and they'd died there. But _this_ one wasn't going to stand and fight, oh no. He was gonna be annoying and stupid and try to lead Dean into a trap like the one that had taken down the hunter who'd been on the job before Sam and Dean. The vampire was probably a hell of a lot smarter than it look, but Dean wasn't about to let him get away and start all over again.  
  
Dean watched the vampire slide silently through the basement window of a 'learning center' – whatever the hell _that_ was supposed to be – and listened to the vampire scream as he scrambled right back out.  
  
Dean had never seen a vampire puke before. To be honest, he never wanted to see one puke ever again. Blood and bile mixed on bright green grass, and the vampire's whole body shuddered.  
  
If Dean hadn't spent most of the drive up to Port Angeles hearing about what the vampire and his buddies had been up to, he might have felt really bad about cutting off the guy's head while he was trying to vomit up his toenails. But the thing had been killing people, and Dean wasn't about to waste any guilt over fighting dirty.  
  
Sam caught up to Dean as he was prying the window open. “Edward over there saw something in here that had him going Linda Blair,” Dean grunted as he fought with the little window. The vampire had been one skinny contortionist bastard; Dean would be lucky to get his head and shoulders through for a peek.  
  
When Dean finally managed to get a look inside, he almost wished he hadn't. The light from Sam's flashlight revealed that someone had turned the basement into a make-shift ossiery, lining the walls with femurs and shins, small skulls and tibias made into a small alter, and ribs turned into a gruesome chandelier. Most of the bones were old and dry, but some still gleamed wetly in the flashlight's beam.  
  
Dean knew the difference between animal bone and human, and the difference between the bones of an adult and those of a child.  
  
“Shit.”  


 

***

  
  
“Idjits,” Bobby growled into the phone, hanging up as he turned to the most used of his reference books, turning the new information over in his mind. Too many questions – was this beastie taking kids because they were easier prey, or was it because kids were part of it's MO? The piles of bones and no attacks on the parents ruled out changelings. The fact that the kids had been stripped down to the bone actually exonerated the vampires that most of the disappearances had been blamed on. Werewolves would have left more behind, the place was too populated for a wendigo. Maybe a rougarou, but the stacking of the bones was unusual.  
  
Bobby's phone buzzed; Sam, with a sampling of missing persons reports. Even those were enough to prove there was no tie to the lunar cycle. Which left-  
  
Castiel appeared in the study, his little blonde shadow trailing behind. The angel looked pleased with himself, but that look fled as soon as he caught Bobby's expression.  
  
“What went wrong?” Zoe asked. “Are they- did they get themselves killed?” She crossed her arms over the brand new t-shirt from the batch Sam and Dean had brought back with them when they'd been sent out to do the laundry. There were already oil stains and grime all over it and the equally new jeans. “I thought vampires were supposed to be _easy_.”  
  
“The boys are fine, the vampires are dead,” Bobby pointed out, his tone dry as dust. “I'll be sure to pass on your concern.” He smirked at the dirty look Zoe gave him. “There's something up there eatin' kids.”  
  
Cas nodded once, going to the shelves. “What do we know?”  
  
“You're not going after them?” Zoe continued to trail Castiel, digging her hands into her pockets.  
  
“You almost sound worried,” Cas noted.  
  
“Dean's a douchebag, but he makes you happy. Besides, if they die, it's you, me, and the creepy redneck, _and_ Sam's got the good laptop with him.”  
  
“I'm startin' to guess why this thing eats kids.” Bobby rubbed his hands together. “Okay, we're looking for a beastie with a taste for long pig that's made it's hunting grounds near a brand new playground. I'm gonna see what I can dig up about the area. As long as you two are done playing Maytag Repair Man, you two can do a little light reading. Unless that vast font of knowledge you got lodged in your skull's got the answer?” He arched an eyebrow, eying Cas.  
  
The angel considered the question, then shook his head. “I'm afraid that's too vague for me.”  
  
“I could break the washer again,” Zoe whispered, only to be shushed by Castiel.  


 

***

  
  
Sam was the one who was good at dealing with families, and had been for as long as Dean could remember. Dean _could_ do it and do it damn well, but Sam could charm people effortlessly, even on one of the worst days of their lives.  
  
“This is my Skye,” Mrs. Blake said, her voice little more than a dry whisper. The Blakes had shed their tears for their missing son a long time ago; Skye Blake was one of the earliest cases of missing kids, gone almost seven years. Somehow, that just made it so much worse sometimes, like a wound you'd thought was healed splitting back open, still raw and red and bloody after all that time.  
  
The boy in the picture was smiling the obviously false smile of someone who'd been told to knock it off with the faces already so the family could have something _nice_ to show people. He'd been all shaggy hair and gangly limbs, with the beginnings of a serious pizza face and a weak mustache when the picture was taken.  
  
“Do you really think Skye's...” Mrs. Blake worried her lower lip between her teeth, pausing a moment to turn off her vibrating cell phone after checking the number. “He might not be one of the-”  
  
“We're still waiting on the DNA,” Sam said gently. “Mrs. Blake, I know this is hard, but we need you to tell us everything you remember about the day Skye disappeared.”  
  
“Like om those cop shows? In case I remember something that didn't seem important then, but is actually the clue that breaks the case wide open?” Mrs. Blake looked from Sam to Dean and back again for confirmation. Sam smiled encouragingly, and Dean bit back a _Because we can't get at the case files because the **real** FBI is on the way._ Sam and Dean were doing their damnedest to fly under the radar – talking to Mrs. Blake was a risky move, but there was something out there eating kids, and Dean needed to know _what_ so he could put the hurt on it.  
  
“-Skye's friend Jasper said they were going to see where that homeless man set himself on fire, but Jasper went home instead. That's the last time anyone saw my boy. That's, um, Jasper Sulivan – one 'el'. I'm afraid he killed himself three years ago,” Mrs. Blake added, twisting her hands in her lap. “He was never the same after we lost Skye.”  
  
“This place they were going-” Sam prompted. Dean had a feeling he knew _exactly_ where she was going to say.  
  
“I think it was one of the old buildings they tore down when they built the new park.”  


 

***

  
  
“Why can't it ever be a simple salt and burn?” Dean wasn't whining as he put the cell phone in the middle of the motel room table and put it on speaker. Dean Winchester didn't _whine_. He was asking a perfectly reasonable question. Ghost hunting was supposed to be _simple_ , the easiest crap to do. Hell, the _vampires_ had been easier than this was shaping up to be. A good fifth of the kills they'd pinned on the fang faces had probably _actually_ been the ghost, if they were reading the thing's hunting range right.  
  
Over the phone, Dean thought he heard Zoe grumble something in the background, followed by Bobby suggesting that if Zoe didn't have anything better to do, she might wanna clean up the mess she'd made of the kitchen.  
  
 _“Do you have children, Agent Simmons?” Mrs. Blake asked as she followed them to the door, the picture of her son clutched in her fingers. “It's... the hardest thing in the world to lose them, but not know for sure what happened. Can you give me those answers?”  
  
“We'll do our best, ma'am. The son-of-a-bitch who did this is going down.”_  
  
“There _are_ other ways to get rid of the ghost,” Cas noted. “Most of them are outside our means, but not all.”  
  
“We're all ears, Cas.” Sam opened up a new word file on his laptop, fingers hovering above the keys. He'd already e-mailed Bobby everything they'd dug up on the accidental fire that had killed Henry Dutch, in a house that had only been half finished when the contractors developing the new community had run out of money. The abandoned construction site had become a favorite hang out for the local kids, and personally Dean was willing to bet that the fire had been about as accidental as a picked lock. More likely, some budding serial killer had caught Henry sleeping in the half finished out and lit him up just to see what would happen. Now Henry was taking it out on any kid that came in range, and some numbskull had built a playground right on top of him.  
  
“What I've got in mind,” Cas went on, “is something like an exorcism. The ghost seems to be tied to the area where he died. Even if it does have some other anchor, you can cut the ties to that and force it to be tied _only_ to that spot – or an object of your choice, but that version takes at least a week in preparation alone.” There was a pause on the other end. “This version takes twenty minutes, maybe less, but it requires that the ghost manifest itself.”  
  
“Which it's not about to do for me and Sam.” Something twisted in Dean's gut. “We need bait.” He caught the look Sam was giving him, suspicious and thoughtful, and the silence on the other end of the phone was heavy. “ _No_ ,” Dean went on sharply, “not Zoe. She'd just get killed. We'll think of something else. Lay the spell on us, Cas.”  


 

***

  
  
There had been a moment when Castiel had wondered and doubted. Dean Winchester was a man who used whatever weapon came into his hands; Castiel had been such a weapon more than once, even if Dean didn't care to think of it that way.  
  
Using Zoe as bait would have been easy enough, but Dean had refused the option out of hand. Zoe had gone to the kitchen after that, lured into cleaning by boredom and the promise of ten dollars when she was done. She was scraping food off plates and into the trash when Castiel checked in on her.  
  
“I'm _not_ impressed or touched,” Zoe pointed out, dropping an egg encrusted fork into the sink. “It'd take too long to get me there anyway. Not that I'd do it anyway. I _like_ having the flesh attached to my bones.”  
  
Castiel shed his coat, draping it over the back of a chair as he rolled up his sleeves. He'd begun to see the appeal of apparently tedious everyday chores' they kept the body busy, allowing the mind to work with minimal interruption. Working on the washing machine had been a positively _enlightening_ experience.  
  
“I'm not splitting my take with you,” Zoe added conversationally, reaching to turn on the faucet. She paused, sniffing the air as she bent closer to the drain. “Something smells _rank_.” The pipes rumbled ominously as Zoe turned the faucet on, and something _foul_ bubbled into the sink.  
  
“I don't think it's supposed to do that,” Castiel noted.  


 

***

  
  
Sam and Dean returned to the Singer Salvage Yard to find Sheriff Jody Mills leaning against her cruiser, sharing half a sandwich with Bobby.  
  
Now, as law enforcement went, Dean kinda liked Jody. Once she'd clued in to what the real world was like, she'd become a damn good ally. It was good to have an inside man with the police, even if it was just some sheriff out in the boonies. A call to Sheriff Mills had saved their asses more than once when some cop with a bit more on the ball than most had started to see through their bullshit and a call to Bobby's fake FBI line wasn't gonna cut it.  
  
Also, she made awesome sandwiches, and dropped a few off at Bobby's every now and then.  
  
But going by the look on Bobby's face even as he tore through his half a sandwich, Jody Mills was about to be a major pain in the ass.  
  
The smell hit Dean as he got out of the Impala, stretching his legs after the long drive. As smells went, it didn't even rank in the top thirty worst things Dean had smelled in his life, but it was still more than enough to make him wrinkle his nose and wish he'd brought something to clip his nostrils closed with. “Oh _man_.”  
  
Bobby grunted sourly as Sam turned on the puppy dog charm for Jody. “What brings you out this way, Sheriff?”  
  
Jody was having none of it today, it seemed. Normally, Dean would have delighted in seeing Sam being unable to charm someone out of the sheer novelty, but the first words out of the sheriff's mouth killed that glee pretty damn quick. “So, who wants to tell me why there's a kid running around here at eleven o'clock on a Tuesday morning?”  
  
“Kid?” Dean asked, wondering if it was too late to come up with a really plausible lie.  
  
“Uh-huh. Keeps trying to hide behind your pretty friend with the gravel-gargle voice whenever she spots me. Been here almost a month now. Face likes she eats lemons in her spare time.” Jody gave a false-bright smile, all teeth and hard eyes, as Cas came around the side of the house with Zoe following like a persistent shadow. “Speak of the devil.”  
  
Someone, Dean noted, had managed to get Cas out of not only his coat, but the dress shirt and slacks as well. If Dean where to guess, he'd say what Cas had been talked in to were Dean's own clothes – _not_ any of his vintage tees, thank God, but something Dean had no problems seeing used during heavy labor... or on Cas for that matter. The shirt clung to Cas's torso, revealing what that too large overcoat normally hid; that while he wasn't as bulky as Dean, he was mostly lean muscle.  
  
It was a good thing Dean didn't mind the use of those clothes, since both Cas and Zoe were covered in dirt and God only knew what else. Even the tool belts they both wore looked the worse for wear.  
  
“Look,” Jody went on, pulling Dean's attention away from Cas and back to her. “I _know_ , remember? But I'm _not_ the only one who's noticed you've got a kid stashed up here. There are people asking questions, and it's not gonna be much longer before word gets to, say, CPS. Bobby's rep is bad enough I'm surprised they haven't been called already. I'll stall things as long as I can, but you either finish what you gotta get done, or you come up with something damn good to keep CPS off your backs.” Inside the cruiser, the the radio squawked, making Jody pull a face. “I'll be by after my shift,” she warned them. “ _Try_ to stay out of trouble.”  
  
Bobby glared at Sam and Dean as the sheriff drove off, growling an annoyed “Balls,” as he headed inside with the remains of his sandwich.  



	5. So I'll seek you out just to find myself

 

 

Part V  
 _So I'll seek you out just to find myself_

No one was surprised when Sam suggested school, and Dean could have recited his brother's arguments in his sleep. _It's normal, it'll be good for Zoe to be around kids her own age, Sam and Dean had both gone to school in spite of moving constantly._  
  
Castiel's counter argument was a bit better.  
  
“I can't guard Zoe as well there. She would be vulnerable.”  
  
It was Dean who struck the decisive blow.  
  
“You gonna follow the kid around for the rest of her _life_?”  
  
“Do _I_ get a say?” Zoe asked more than once. The general consensus was _no_ , leaving Zoe to sulk and glare and poke through the books resentfully.  
  
“We can make some hex bags,” Sam went on. “Then we enroll Zoe-”  
  
“And then you all can get arrested for kidnapping,” Zoe pointed out with false cheer. “Or did you forget that bit?”  
  
“We can fake you up a new identity.” Sam looked to Bobby for confirmation, earning himself a growl from the older man.  
  
“This ain't gonna be easy. What I've worked up before won't pass close scrutiny. It was only ever meant for quick in-and-out work. _This_ is a whole damn life.”  
  
“Birth certificate,” Dean said thoughtfully, ticking points off on his fingers, “old school records, immunization records – what?” He looked around at the surprised faces of everyone _but_ Cas. “By middle school, getting us enrolled was _my_ job.”  
  
Bobby grimaced, then sighed. “We _can_ do this, but it ain't gonna be easy, and _you_ ,” he jabbed a finger in Zoe's direction, “gotta stay out of trouble.”  
  
“Please. You think this is my first dance with CPS?” Zoe picked out a book, flipping through the pages, then put it back. “I can do my part. The question is, can _you_ guys not come off as creeps?”  
  
“You should have more faith in our ability to deal with the authorities, should the need arise,” Cas lectured gently.  
  
It was unanimously decided that Cas wouldn't be allowed in the same room as anyone that might come poking around asking questions.  
  
Of course, there was one looming problem that no one particularly wanted to bring up – two, if you counted the fact that Jody, when she returned with another batch of sandwiches, wanted to know the _whole_ truth of what was going on. The sheriff listened to the story with surprising patience, asking questions only when it was needed to coax the truth out of the reluctant story tellers. If Jody wasn't buying that Cas was an actual Angel of the Lord, she hit it well; but she _had_ been around for a zombie uprising and a couple of near Apocalypses. That would be enough to make a believer out of _anyone_.  
  
“So why isn't your Mom on TV wailing about wanting her poor little baby back?” Jody asked, giving voice to the question everyone had been avoiding for a while.  
  
“Because Meg wants to keep this quiet,” Castiel finally said. “She knows where we are and could have easily brought the law down on us, but she hasn't because it won't take very long for others to put the facts together after that. Even if she got Zoe, she'd be fending off everyone and everything else that might want her, for whatever reason. So for now, Meg values secrecy as much as we do.”  
  
“I've been keeping an eye on the fallout from Zoe's old school,” Sam added. “They, uh, haven't been able to identify all the remains yet, and they've only released the names of some of the students. The police are doing their best to keep a tight lid on things...” Sam turned to Jody with a mute appeal that had Dean rolling his eyes.  
  
“I'll see what I can get,” Jody said. “They won't have released the names of anyone who's family they couldn't contact-”  
  
“And Joanne McGrudder is officially a missing person,” Sam added helpfully.  
  
“No other family?” Jody's tone was gentle and sympathetic, and it was met with cool derision.  
  
“Depends on who you asked. My grandparents both died when I was little,” Zoe said. “And there were plenty of 'honorary uncles', but Mom's type aren't the kind that leave behind addresses. Or real names.”  
  
Cas cleared his throat, and Zoe subsided with a glare in Dean's direction. Dean resisted the urge to stick his tongue out at the girl.  
  
“Oh-kay.” Jody murmured, glancing askance at Dean before obviously deciding that whatever was going on there was something she didn't want to get in to. “First thing you gotta do is take her out in public so people stop thinking you're holding her hostage – Mr. Davidson already thinks you're forming some kind of anti-government militia, and that's probably one of the _tamer_ rumors going around.”

 

 

***

  
  
“Next one of these douchebags asks me if I'm alright, I'm gonna scream that they tried to grope me,” Zoe hissed.  
  
Sam could feel a headache blossoming behind his eyes as he held out a backpack to Zoe. “I thought we agreed that you weren't going to do anything that attracts attention?” he asked, wishing for the moment that Dean hadn't dragged Castiel off to the other side of the Wal Mart.  
  
Zoe's lip curled at the pastel butterflies that cavorted across the backpack, putting it right back on the hook. She lingered over one emblazoned with a _My Little Pony_ logo, but ultimately picked out a utilitarian bag in basic black that looked big enough to carry a week's worth of supplies. “Twelve years, I'm practically invisible. _Now_ they care?”  
  
All Sam could do was shrug. “You _could_ get the other backpack.”  
  
“Sure I could, Samantha. And after that we can have makeovers and you can teach me to braid hair. _Such_ a girl.” The black backpack went into the shopping cart, on top of pencils, pens, notebooks, and folders. “Where'd Cas get kidnapped to, anyway?”

 

 

***

  
  
Dean held up one of the shirts from the pile he'd picked out, giving it a critical once over before shoving it into Cas's arms. “You completely ruined the clothes you borrowed, you know. That is a stink not even your mojo could kill.”  
  
Castiel was tempted to argue that he was more than up to the task of cleaning garments, but chose to hold his peace instead. This was just Dean being Dean... and perhaps Dean had a point when he'd dragged Castiel across the store to the racks of men's clothing. Now more than ever he needed to conserve his energy, and Castiel was willing to admit that Jimmy's shirt and slacks were ill suited to the tasks he'd set himself. For his part, Dean seemed to be enjoying himself. The hunt had done some good for Dean's mood – he was not a man who enjoyed sitting idle.  
  
Castiel could appreciate that.  
  
“Anyway, if you're gonna be creeping around a school – and I know you will be – you gotta look _way_ less like a flasher,” Dean added with a hint of a grin.  
  
“It's _my_ understanding,” Castiel sniffed, “that my attire makes me look professional.”  
  
“Only when you aren't creeping around a school,” Dean countered. “Then it makes people think of strangers with candy.”  
  
“I'm not sure if these will help dispel that image, Dean.” Jeans and t-shirts made up most of the pile of clothes, with a few button down shirts and a bag of underwear thrown in for good measure.  
  
“Just go try 'em on,” Dean sighed, already eying the store's shoe selection.  
  
Sam would have made a joke about dress up dolls, but Castiel was more inclined to let Dean enjoy himself without any teasing.

 

 

***

  
  
“And you are-?” Dean prompted, parking the Impala in front of the Sioux Falls Middle School. Zoe was hunkered down in the back seat next to Cas (who had insisted on wearing his overcoat and suit despite Dean's advise), backpack in her lap.  
  
For the sixth time that morning, Zoe recited her new biography, clearly bored with it already. “My name is Zoe Ann Fairchild. I was born in Rapid City, South Dakota, and my mom took me to live in a commune in Mexico, where I was home schooled. My mother has recently died – can we make it syphilis instead of cancer? Cancer's _way_ overdone.”  
  
The real Zoe Fairchild _had_ been taken to Mexico by her mother when she was a baby, where she had died before she was a year old; Bobby had decided that the dead girl's identity had been too good to pass up. With Jody's help, they'd claimed the identity for Zoe, creating a simple life story. Now all she had to do was remember it.  
  
“Stick to the script, smart ass,” Dean growled.  
  
“Died of cancer, leaving me in the care of her old 'friend' Dean, who may or may not be my biological father. Do I _have_ to do this?” Zoe looked out the window at the kids streaming past. “We could just _leave_.”  
  
“Yes, you _do_. I went to school, you gotta go to school. Stay out of trouble.” Dean passed a cell phone back, and Zoe tucked it into her pocket with a little grumble.  
  
“We'll be here to pick you up at 2: 30,” Castiel assured her. “And if _anything_ looks suspicious, call.”  
  
Zoe slid out of the back seat, shouldering her back pack with an annoyed grunt as she trudged towards the school.  
  
“They grow up so fast.” Dean pretended to wipe away a tear. “Lets go hunt us a demon bitch.”

 

 

***

  
  
Humans, it has been noted, are often creatures of habit. Even ones who had lived lives as chaotic as Sam and Dean Winchester had their daily routines, and it became especially easy to fall into routines when not chasing monsters hither and yon across the country. So, slowly but surely the household at the Singer Salvage Yard settled into a routine of it's own. Early morning hand to hand practice (devoted learning how to do enough damage to allow escape) and breakfast, dropping Zoe off at school, research, watching for the signs and omens that told of demons, picking Zoe up from school, more training (mostly making Zoe help with research), with the odd night out to hustle pool or play poker. In time, Cas began joining Dean on the occasional night out. People settled in, with years of accumulated things being moved out of the bedrooms under the pretext of looking for _this_ volume of forgotten lore or _that_ talisman, letting Sam and Dean move off the couches, and Zoe out of the panic room.  
  
Even Castiel fell into the odd little pattern – no angel would have actually admitted it, but most of them thrived on routine as much as any human did. And he discovered that he actually _enjoyed_ fixing things – after dealing with the plumbing, Castiel tackled the windows, which had become prone to letting in the chill late fall air. Then he had been recruited to help Dean with the Impala whenever Dean felt his baby needed some work (which was often).  
  
Of course, there were still the little adjustments that had to be made...  
  
  
Dean pounded on the bathroom door with growing impatience. “C'mon, it's not like you've got lady locks like Sam! Get outta there already!”  
  
“Can't. I'm bleeding.”  
  
“That's what you get for climbing around in those damn cars. You're probably gonna need a tetanus shot. _Cas_ , we need you!”  
  
“I'm bleeding from the _crotch_ , douchebag! I'm on the rag!”  
  
Dean let go of the door handle like it was red hot, just as Cas arrived at his side. The angel cocked his head to the right, worry flashing briefly his face. Dean pulled Cas away from the bathroom with a shake of his head, watching it like he expected something horrifying to come crashing out. “Girl thing,” he explained. “She's gonna be even _more_ of a raging bitch than usual.”  
  
“ _I. Can. Hear. You._ ”  
  
“Maybe we can just leave you in there for the rest of the week,” Dean suggested.

 

 

***

  
  
Never before had Dean Winchester so badly wanted the ground to open up beneath him and just swallow him up than he did as he stood in the convenience store, just staring at the mindboggling selection of “feminine products” lined up neatly on the shelves before him. He’d never had to deal with any of this crap when he’d been living with Lisa; she knew what she needed and she got it herself, and it had never ever come up in any kind of conversation at all.  
  
 _Deep breath, Dean. You’ve faced down the Devil himself, this is nothing to lose your shit over._  
  
“Fuck,” he muttered to himself as he crouched to inspect a plastic wrapped package that announced that this particular product was for Light Days, “I shoulda made Sammy do this.”  
  
But Sam had disappeared the moment that Zoe had announced through the locked bathroom door that no, she was not coming out because she was bleeding from her crotch, and she would not be coming out until she was brought something to deal with said bleeding.  
  
The first thing Dean had done upon hitting the drug store was track down the Midol. Maybe it would even make Zoe less of a bitch than she usually was. And maybe pigs would fly. But now he was faced with the choices, and only some half-remembered TV commercials to guide him in them.  
  
“Problem here?”  
  
Dean rose awkwardly from his crouch, whirling to face the sheriff, who looked on him with an expression that mixed amusement and pity. He rocked back on his heels, refusing to let his agitation show. “No, it’s all good.”  
  
And oh God, the sheriff was snickering. Only a little, but he could hear it, and he could feel his ears heating even as she picked out a few of the plastic packages and put them in the little basket still clutched in Dean’s nerveless fingers. “I’m thinking I should swing by Bobby’s after my shift tonight. You take care now,” she said, turning away with a little wave of her fingers.

 

 

***

  
  
It was the little things, Dean realized. Little things that built into bigger things, until they got so big not even Dean could ignore them, however much he might like to. It was never an easy thing to have your world view shifted off it's axis.  
  
For Dean, that moment came after a great night of poker. Flush with his winnings, he'd hit up the bar, and then _she'd_ slid up beside him. She was lean and tan, with sun bleached hair, pouty pink lips, and a top cut low enough to give Dean a generous view of her cleavage. She was _very_ impressed with Dean's skill at poker, and with his arms, which she dubbed strong as she traced her fingers up and down the inside of his forearm. _Dean_ was impressed with the way she was able to keep that top within the realm of decency and the way she could down a shot without even blinking. She leaned in close, breasts brushing against Dean's arm as she trailed her fingernails across the back of his hand.  
  
Without really thinking about it, Dean pulled his hand away, laying down enough cash to cover his tab. He'd promised Cas he'd help with the roof in the morning, and when Cas said morning, he meant _as soon as the sun comes up_. “Sorry, honey, but I need to be on my way.”  
  
“Someone waiting at home?” she of the low cut top asked with obvious disappointment.  
  
The question caught Dean by surprise, bringing him up short. Here was this beautiful woman, this very _interested_ woman, and Dean was ready to just leave her and go back to an early morning with an angel who was _weird_ at the best of times, a surly old guy, an annoying little brother, and an ungrateful kid?  
  
His family, strange and broken as it was.  
  
Cas would be making the rounds of the house this time of night, diligently guarding whatever sleep everyone else could get. He'd still be at it by the time Dean got back.  
  
“Yeah,” Dean finally admitted. He spent the drive back thinking about a lot of things. Some of them important, some not so much in the grand scheme of things.  
  
Cas was in Bobby's study, fingers tracing invisible sigils on the window glass when Dean got in. The angel said nothing, not even as Dean followed him on his rounds. Dean didn't say anything either, not until Cas started climbing the stairs.  
  
“I'm real bad at this kinda thing.”  
  
Cas paused and turned, waiting for Dean to continue.  
  
“You – you're important, you know? To me.” Dean followed Cas the rest of the way up the stairs. “You're family. I.” He stopped. It was so damn easy to say the words when he didn't mean them, when he didn't mean them, when it was just to charm a pretty face into his bed.  
  
Cas, apparently, didn't need Dean to say the word.  
  
The lips that brushed against Dean's were dry and chapped, and they were gone almost as soon as they touched Dean's.  
  
“I'm gonna need time,” Dean murmured, fingers tracing Cas's jaw, feeling the dark stubble that dotted the angel's skin. Cas's lips twitched in a near smile of perfect understanding.  
  
If anyone noticed that Dean and Cas stayed in near constant orbit around each other the next morning, no one felt the need to comment.

 

 

***

  
  
There was a boy standing on Bobby Singer's front porch, and he had pie. Working out just why there was a boy standing on Bobby Singer's front porch with pie had somehow become Dean Winchester's job. The boy looked up at him, freckles standing out sharply against his blanched skin, hair standing about his head in an orangy kind of halo, brown eyes wide behind a pair of wire frame glasses. "Um, hi? I'm Mike?"  
  
Dean leaned against the door frame casually and smiled. "Hi, Mike. What can I do for ya?" he asked, eyes flicking from the boy's face to the pie and back again. Apple, his nose told him. Fresh apple pie.  
  
Mike inhaled deeply, then spat his words out all in one go. "SoI'minZoe'sclassandIheardhersaysomethingaboutitbeingherbirthdayandmymomkeepsmakingallthesepiesandstuffandIthoughtYouknowZoemightlikesomepieonherbirthdaybutyouguysprobablyhaveplansandI'lljustgonowbye!" The boy flashed what was probably supposed to be a smile at Dean that looked more like rictus of fear and darted off the porch like someone had just set his ass on fire. He was almost to the bike propped up on Bobby's fence when he turned back around, coming back to the porch and pacing the pie in Dean hands. Then he was gone again, taking off on the bike and disappearing down the road.  
  
Dean watched the boy go, then looked down at the pie in his hands, a chuckle welling up in his chest as he turned around. Oh, this was gonna be fun. "Zoe!"  
  
The stairs creaked as Zoe stomped her way down them, as sullen as ever. "What now?" she snapped. "I'm busy."  
  
Dean held up the pie, waving it back and forth. "Your boyfriend Mikey just came by," he informed Zoe sweetly. "I like him." The pie smelled really good. He could almost taste the cinnamon in the back of his mouth. Zoe stood on the stares and made a Bitchface at him that would have made Sam proud. "Hey, Sammy! Zoe's boyfriend brought pie!"  
  
Sam emerged from Bobby's study wearing an expression of mild bewilderment, looking first to his smirking brother, then to his irate niece, hoping that someone would enlighten him. "Don't look at me!" Zoe growled. "I don't know what he's talking about."  
  
"I'm talking about the red head with the glasses," Dean told her, voice still sweet as honey. "He brought you birthday pie."  
  
"It's your birthday?" Sam asked, deciding that Zoe was slightly more in need of his attention than Dean. "Real one or the new one?"  
  
"Real," Zoe muttered like she wanted the earth to just swallow her up. “It just kinda came up. I didn't think anyone was listening.”  
  
“What do you wanna to to celebrate?” Sam asked. “We could go out to Biggersons.”  
  
“Pass.” Zoe scurried back up the stairs, leaving Dean holding the pie and Sam staring up after her sadly.  
  
“There is something really wrong with that kid,” Sam sighed, grabbing a set of keys off the hook. “Don't eat that pie until I get back.”  
  
“Swear to God she just said she didn't wanna do anything.” Dean inhaled the delightful aroma of fresh apple pie, licking his lips. If that pie tasted half as good as it smelled... “Hey Cas, we got birthday pie!” he called, ignoring Sam's look as he went in search of Cas. It would be a damn shame to let such a good looking pie go to waste. Cas came up from the basement, paint on his new pants and speckled on his hands; he'd been touching up the symbols in the panic room. Dean showed him the pie, which failed to illicit the pleased response he'd been hoping for.  
  
“Zoe's got a _boyfriend_ ,” Dean announced, sing-song, as he put the pie down and grabbed a knife. “He brought pie.”  
  
“A... boyfriend,” Cas said flatly. He turned as Zoe slouched into the kitchen, grabbing the bucket of ice cream from the freezer and taking the knife from Dean. Dean backed off with a chuckle. “Who is this boy?”  
  
“Mike?” Zoe sliced into the pie. “He's a boy in my class. He's alright. We hang out at lunch.” A slice was moved from pie tin to a plate. “Stop glaring like that, he's just a guy I know.” Cas grunted, getting another chuckle out of Dean while Zoe added the ice cream and devoured her slice of pie. “Where'd Sam go?”  
  
“Sam thinks birthdays should be celebrated,” Dean pointed out, enjoying the way Zoe squirmed just a bit too much as he got himself a slice of pie. “Do us all a favor and humor him. He'll just get more and more obnoxious until he gets his way.”  
  
“ _So_ may issues,” Zoe muttered.  
  
The pie was _perfect_. “Oh my _God_ , do _not_ screw things up with this boy.”  
  
  
There wasn't any pie left by the time Sam came back, not that he cared. He came back into the house looking exceptionally pleased with himself and holding something wrapped in his coat that squirmed and whined as he hunted through the house. He found Zoe out back, holding the ladder for Dean as the he helped Cas on the roof. Zoe shot Sam an apprehensive look, her eyes drawn to the squirming bundle. Sam smiled, unwrapping the coat and letting out the puppy. It looked like it was mostly Golden Retriever, adorably sweet with it's big brown eyes, floppy ears that just begged to be rubbed and paws that were far too big for it's body. The puppy whined and leaned up against Sam's legs until Sam crouched down, ruffling it's ears.  
  
“I know you said you didn't want anything,” Sam explained, “but I thought... _anyway_ , there was this woman in the parking lot who was giving away puppies, and I thought you might like this little lady.” He smiled hopefully at Zoe, who looked utterly unimpressed by the gift.  
  
“Sam, _tell me_ you didn't get a dog!” Dean called down from the roof, leaning over to look at his little brother. Sam just held up the puppy, who joined the younger Winchester in making adorable faces at Dean.  
  
“It's not like Bobby didn't used to have dogs here,” Sam reminded him. “Besides, a pet might be good for Zoe.”  
  
“Ooooh no, that is _not_ mine,” Zoe insisted, backing off. “That dog is _yours_. I want nothing to do with it.” Sam and the puppy turned their matching adorable expressions on the girl, but she remained unimpressed. “What happened to Bobby's dogs anyway?”  
  
“They got eaten by a rougarou,” Sam reluctantly admitted, stroking the puppy's ears.

 

 

***

  
  
Days later, Castiel walked along the edge of the roof as easily as Dean would have walked on the sidewalk, checking for spots that might still need to be fixed. Dean watched from the ground, one hand resting lightly on the ladder as Sam's puppy, who he'd finally dubbed Sophie when he was finally willing to admit that Zoe _wasn't_ going to claim the dog, gnawed on an old sneaker on the porch. Movement just outside his field of vision drew his attention away from Cas; Bobby had just pulled in, looking more grim than usual. Dean knew _exactly_ what that look meant. Sam had been getting the basement ready since last night. Bobby had just been out picking up the last few things they needed for this exercise in potentially catastrophic madness.  
  
Cas leaped from the roof and landed as gracefully as an gymnast, bypassing the ladder completely. He rested a hand on Dean's shoulder, a brief reassurance before he started walking towards the town. No one wanted Castiel anywhere near the salvage yard for what they were about to do. Cas would be able to get into town before the finished setting up.  
  
What they were planning was a huge risk in and of itself, but they were taking no chances with the actual summoning.  
  
Sam was still in the basement, preparing the summoning circle. The basement smelled of sage and oil, and in theory all spiritual traces of anyone who had passed through the house had been erased by the cleansing rituals Sam had been going through since last night. Every entrance was lined with goofer dust and salt, all the devil's traps were checked and double checked. Now there was just one thing left to do.  
  
After all the prep work, actually summoning Crowley was an anti-climatic affair. Bobby spoke the summoning, and there _he_ was in the middle of the circle, dressed in a dark well tailored suit. There was nothing to herald Crowley's arrival, not a gout of flame or a puff of sulpherous smoke. The lights didn't even flicker.  
  
The King of Hell glanced at the devil's trap above him, then around the basement. “Really now, don't you think this has gotten a _little_ old?” Crowley arched an eyebrow, smirking as he clasped his hands behind his back and waited expectantly. “So, what's this reunion about? Another relative bite it? World ending again? Betrayed by a trusted ally?”  
  
“Lets talk about our old buddy Meg, Crowley,” Dean suggested. Technically, the expression he turned on the demon was a smile. His lips were upturned, and there were certainly teeth visible.  
  
“A, sweet Meg. Is she pulling your pigtails again?” Crowley clucked his tongue with mock sympathy. “And you want me to do – what? Put her in detention? Give her a stern talking to, perhaps?”  
  
“I was thinking more along the lines of _head on a pike_ ,” Bobby grunted. “Something tasteful I can put up in my yard.”  
  
Crowley started laughing, harsh and entirely without humor. “I've got _bigger_ problems than Meg's little revenge quest, in case you haven't noticed.” Crowley noted the circle of blank faces and ran a hand over his face. “Of course, you _don't_ know, do you. You've been so busy playing happy families-” Crowley shook his head. “It's like talking to baboons. I get more understanding from my hounds.”  
  
“Meg's after something that'll let her topple you from your throne,” Sam pointed out, earning himself a pitying look from the demon.  
  
“Of course she is. But,” Crowley held up a finger, “she's not going to get it, because you three are going to kill her.” He rolled his eyes. “Of course, given your track record, maybe I should be placing my money on Meg.” Crowley had a shark's smile as he paced the edges of the summoning circle below his feet, studying the devil's trap that remained persistently in place above. “Lucky for you, I've got better things to do with my time than watch you all try to tear each other apart. So, what can _I_ do to speed this along?” The three hunters watched Crowley with undisguised suspicion as he paced. “Ah-hah, I know just the thing. It just so happens that I once again happen to know where the Colt is.”  
  
It was like the bottom suddenly dropped out of the world, leaving Dean free-falling in the void. The last time he'd seen the Colt, Dean had failed to kill Lucifer. He'd dropped the gun that was supposed to be able to kill anything in that cemetery, and when he'd finally been able to go back, days later, the Colt had been gone. Dean had thought Lucifer had destroyed the gun.  
  
“Why would you give _us_ the Colt again?” Sam demanded. “After everything?”  
  
“Believe me or not, it's your decision.” Crowley spread his hands, palms up. “But remember, _you_ called _me_. If there's one thing I've learned from watching you overgrown orangutangs, it's that revenge is a fool's game. Now, if you don't _want_ the Colt, I'll just be on my way.”  
  
Bobby, Sam, and Dean exchanged a silent look. They didn't need to actually say anything to each other, not about this.  
  
“Alright, where's it stashed?” Dean leaned against the washing machine, ignoring the vibration of his cell phone in his back pocket.  
  
If Crowley heard the phone, he didn't acknowledge it. “You'll find a witch living outside of Mesa, Arizona. Lucas Pritchard. He was given stewardship of the Colt after you _dropped_ the damn thing. He's gone a bit... crazy survivalist since then, shooting at anyone who gets close. Now, if we're done here...?” He nodded towards the circle keeping him trapped. Bobby tossed an oil soaked rag at the devil's trap on the ceiling, breaking the circle. Crowley continued to smile his shark smile, even as he reached into his jacket and pulled out a cigar. “Before I forget.” He tossed it to Dean and disappeared as silently as he'd come.  
  
“ _Fuck_ ,” Dean whispered. There was a pink band wrapped around the cigar, _It's A Girl!_ spelled out in big, friendly letters. He finally pulled out his cell, noting two missed calls and a text; one from Sheriff Mills, another and the text from Zoe.  
  
 **vp saw cas at school where r u?**

 

 

***

  
  
Dean had expected all kinds of things when he pulled up to the Sioux Falls Middle School's front entrance, with Cas in handcuffs in the back of the police car being first and foremost among them. Cas laying waste to teachers and cops alike was a close second.  
  
Cas was sitting on the front steps of the school, next to Zoe, with the girl clinging tightly to his hand. Sheriff Mills and a woman in a cheap gray pants suit who looked incredibly embarrassed as she spoke to Jody, darting glances at Cas. The sheriff spotted Dean and waved him over, her expression carefully blank. He had to hand it to Jody, she was a _master_ of the Stone Face. “Seems we've had a bit of a to do over your buddy here, Dean.”  
  
“Mister, ah, Winchester?” The woman in the suit extended a hand. “Leslie Witt, I'm the vice-principal.” She smiled weakly at Dean, keeping her voice low as she spoke. “I understand that readjusting to civilian life can be difficult for returning soldiers.”  
  
“Yeah,” Dean agreed quickly, glancing at Cas at the same time Ms. Witt did. Their eyes met briefly, and Dean flashed him a grin. Zoe caught the look at stuck her tongue out at him. “Yeah, it's been a big adjustment for everyone.”  
  
“I know Zoe's very _fond_ of her Uncle Cas,” Ms. Witt went on, radiating earnestness, “but he _can't_ just wander around the campus any time he feels like. It's a safety issue, you understand.”  
  
“I'm sure Mr. Winchester can impress on Cas how important this is,” Jody put in helpfully. Dean nodded, and Ms. Witt relaxed a little.  
  
“In light of his condition, I'm willing to let Mister, ah, Cas off with a warning, just this once. But if I catch him here again, I'll have to have him arrested for trespassing. I've already explained this all to him, but I'm not sure how much he really understood.”  
  
“I'll make sure he gets it,” Dean said, using his most reassuring voice, gesturing for Cas to get in the damn car already. Zoe came with him, still clinging to his hand.  
  
  



	6. Times when I just can't bring myself to say it loud, 'fraid that what I'll say comes out somehow awry

 

Part VI  
 _Times when I just can't bring myself to say it loud, 'fraid that what I'll say comes out somehow awry_

_  
_Dean set up the empty beer bottles, all in a row along the fence, then turned back to his audience. Cas had been talked into wearing his new clothes for the outing, though he clung stubbornly to the tan overcoat. Zoe huddled in her red goose-down jacket, a knit hat pulled low to ward off the November chill. Dean popped the Impala's trunk, picking out a .22 rifle. “Today, _you_ are gonna learn how to shoot.”  
  
“Oh. Yay.” Castiel nudged Zoe forward, wordlessly encouraging her to take the rifle. She held it gingerly, expression uncertain.  
  
Dean rolled his eyes skywards as if calling on the heavens to grant him patience. “Put a knife in your hand, you're Vernita Green, try to give you a gun and suddenly you're a shrinking violet?”  
  
Dean expected the puzzled head tilt from Cas. He was used to his references going right over the angel's head; what he didn't expect was for Zoe to mirror the expression, complete with the tilted head.  
  
“Vernita Green? _Kill Bill_? The-” Dean palmed his forehead. “The movie is _not_ that old.”  
  
“I don't like Tarantino movies,” Zoe told Dean sullenly, looking down at the rifle in her hands.  
  
“Oh, there is _so much_ wrong with you.” Dean lead Zoe over to the line of empty bottles. He stood behind her, glancing over his shoulder at Cas, who watched them closely. “Okay, butt against your shoulder like that, hand _here_ and – Jesus, will you relax? I don't bite.” Dean took a step back while Zoe side eyed him. “What is with you?”  
  
“I like my personal space,” Zoe snorted, resuming the position Dean had been guiding her towards.  
  
Dean ignored the noise Cas made, something between a laugh and a grunt. “Okay, you're gonna site along the barrel, and when you've got your target, you're gonna squeeze the trigger.”  
  
Zoe _stood_ there for a few minutes, and Dean opened his mouth a few times to tell her to get on with it, but a look at Cas kept him quiet. Finally, Zoe fired off a shot.  
  
The bottles remained upright and unbroken.  
  
“You kinda suck at this,” Dean couldn't help but note. “C'mon, it's only four feet away.”  
  
“Shouldn't I have, like, ear protection and stuff?”  
  
“Don't be such a girl.” Dean snorted as he showed Zoe how to reload the rifle.  
  
“What's _wrong_ with being a girl? I bet this is why you listen to that crap you call music so loud – you're going _deaf_.”  
  
“Shaddup and shoot. If you actually _hit_ anything, we'll go for ice cream before you learn how to clean that little baby.”  
  
“Yippee.”  
  
  
Dean's fingers and nose were numb from the cold despite keeping close to Cas and using him as his own personal space heater when he finally conceded that Zoe wasn't going to get any better that day. At least she was hitting the bottles as often as not.  
  
Zoe got a hot chocolate instead of ice cream, and she slouched silently on her side of the booth until Cas got up under the pretense of investigating the spinning racks of pies. Dean settled on his side of the booth with his coffee, grinning at Zoe.  
  
“You can stop trying to play 'daddy' now.”  
  
Dean raise his coffee in a mock salute. “From zero to bitch in five seconds. Good job.”  
  
“Up yours. You think you're the first guy who's tried being all dad-like at me? First it's all ball games and ice cream, then they realize being a dad is _work_. Then they leave. They _always_ leave.”  
  
Dean laid his hands flat on the table, face stoney as another child's words on the subject of fatherhood echoed in his head. Kid had a real gift for sticking the knife in and twisting. “I'm _trying_ here, okay? I _get_ that you're a big ol' bundle of daddy issues. Try cutting me a _little_ slack.” He glanced at Cas, still looking over the spinning trays of pies. He caught Zoe following his line of sight. “Lets face it, neither of us is going anywhere.”  
  
“Says the guy leaving for Arizona tomorrow.”  


 

***

  
  
“Why _him_?”  
  
Castiel gently corrected Zoe's grip on the handle of the knife, following her gaze. Sam and Dean were loading up the car for the trip to Arizona, and they were going loaded for bear. “Dean Winchester is many things. He is wrathful, and arrogant, stubborn, often blasphemous, short sighted, and prone to letting his hormones call the shots.” That got a snort and something that was almost a smile from Zoe. “But he is also the most selfless, generous being that I have ever met. He has given _everything_ time and again to save people who will _never_ know or understand what he and Sam have been through, or what they've sacrificed. That isn't a metaphor – they have been to Hell and back for each other and the world. There have been times when I have doubted, but in the end Dean has always come through. If it weren't for him, I...” _I would have been consumed by the power of the souls of Purgatory, and the universe with me,_ “I would not be here now.” Castiel stood back and let Zoe attack him with the knife, disarming her easily with a blow that left her fingers numb. Sophie saw this as the perfect chance to jump onto Zoe's leg and demand attention, yipping excitedly until she was gently pushed away.  
  
Zoe shook her hand until the feeling returned, picking the knife up from where it had dropped. “And the ass that you could bounce quarters off has nothing to do with it?”  
  
“I have seen his _soul_ , Zoe, and it is far more beautiful than any flesh could be. It shines brighter than the sun.” Zoe attacked again, and once again Castiel disarmed her, plucking the knife from her hand. “ _You_ are trying to distract me. A good tactic, but you could stand to be a bit more subtle.” He handed the knife back, and Zoe tucked it into her boot.  
  
“Mike's mom is driving me to school today,” she said, raking a hand through her hair, shaking some of it loose from her pony tail. It stood up awkwardly, too coarse and untamed to be proper curls. Jody had made a few noises about a curling iron and hair products, but Castiel suspected that a pair of scissors would be more useful.  
  
“Ah yes. Mike.”  
  
Something in Castiel's tone made Zoe grin. “Sam says I'm supposed to make friends. It's part of being normal.”  
  
“I'm starting to see why Dean finds you parroting me so obnoxious.”  
  
“Most of my personality is about being obnoxious.” Zoe squeezed Castiel's forearm briefly before heading inside to clean up, leaving Castiel alone with his thoughts, or at least as alone as he could be with Sophie making disappointed whimpers when the screen door closed before she could get into the house.  
  
Dean was, Castiel was more than willing to admit, aesthetically pleasing, and Castiel always felt a small surge of what he thought was pardonable pride when he looked at the man. Castiel had _rebuilt_ him, no small feat for an angel of his former rank and power.  
  
If he had known then what he knew now--  
  
Castiel shook off the thought like Sophie shaking off water. The past could not be changed, and there was little point on dwelling upon it; even if Castiel could have changed things, he wouldn't. He'd made his choices, and while not all of them were good ones, they were his own.  
  
Dean had a map out on the hood of the Impala, and when he looked up and caught Castiel's eye, he flashed a smile that was oddly shy. Dean had decided to take things slowly, and Castiel was inclined to let Dean have his way. Dean needed time to adjust to the way his world and how he viewed himself had shifted, and Castiel was nothing if not patient. Sam elbowed his brother in the ribs and raised his hand to wave, grinning what dean would call a 'shit eating grin'. Castiel had deemed that term one of the more nonsensical ones Dean used; when Castiel had pointed that out, Dean had just laughed.  
  
Dean was laughing more these days, and his smiles were more genuine. He was happy, even if he didn't really realize it, perhaps as happy as he had been with Lisa and Ben.  
  
That thought made a hard knot form in the pit of Castiel's stomach.  
  
Dean got into the Impala, shouting at Sam, “If I hear the worlds 'it's about time' come outta your mouth, you're _walking_ back!”  
  
Sophie yipped with typical puppy enthusiasm, launching herself off the porch and onto Sam before he could close the door behind him. Sam submitted himself to the puppy's attentions, allowing himself to be thoroughly licked before gently turning Sophie away, Dean complaining all the while about the stupid dog as they drove off into the distance. Sophie made a forlorn sound that lacked the dignity of a proper howl, climbing awkwardly back up the porch steps and flopping down with a whimper. Castiel sat down next to Sophie, rubbing her ears the way he'd seen Sam do. “I know the feeling.”  


 

***

  
  
The Colt felt heavy in Dean's hands, even though he knew it wasn't loaded; he'd seen to that himself as soon as he's pried it free of the witch's hands, after a day and a half of driving and another two days actually tracking the bastard to his lair out in the middle of the fucking desert. It was just... full of potential. It might not have worked on Lucifer, but this baby could sure as hell do a number on Meg, and then--  
  
What? Settle down with Cas and try to civilize Zoe while Sam played with his (incredibly dumb) puppy and Bobby accused them all of being idiots?  
  
Strangely, the idea didn't seem quite so stupid when he thought about it.  
  
It wasn't _normal_. It wasn't the white picket fence in the burbs, it wasn't the beautiful wife and the Sundays in the park teaching a kid to play baseball; it wasn't any of the things Dean had thought he'd wanted. All the things he still kind of wanted, Dean admitted to himself, but knew he wasn't going to have.  
  
But it also wasn't that bad.  
  
“Dean?” Sam said, shaking Dean from his reverie. There was still a house full of satanic crap to burn down, including what was left of the epically groady looking witch guy.  
  
Said witch was sticking disgustingly to the wall, little more than a human sized booger thanks to the spell Sam had disrupted before he could be lobbed at Dean.  
  
Witches and bodily fluids. _Ick_.  
  
A thought crouched unpleasantly in the back of Dean's mind like a toad on a stone, worrying words worming their way trough he consciousness even as he helped his brother light the cabin up. Of course, it was Sam who put the worrying thought into actual words.  
  
“Crowley said he had bigger problems.”  
  
“What are the odds that those bigger problems _aren't_ gonna come and bite us on the ass?” Dean asked rhetorically as he tossed a batch into a pool of gasoline. The cabin went up like the dry tinder it was, burning with unnatural colors as a lifetime of collected magical paraphernalia caught fire.  
  
“About as good as Uwe Boll winning an Oscar.”  
  
“Son of a bitch.” The curse carried no force behind it; really, it was little more than a world weary sigh and an acknowledgment that their lives just _weren't_ that easy.  
  
“We still need to actually _find_ Meg,” Sam added helpfully.  
  
“Aint you just a little ball of sunshine.” Dean pulled out his cell, thumbing Cas's number and ignoring Sam's smirk. Two rings, then--  
  
“Hello, Dean.”  
  
Dean could hear Sophie barking shrilly in the background, suppressing an instinctive wince. Sam's puppy had about as much in common with hellhounds as a pigeon did with a velociraptor, but Dean's instincts didn't always listen to his logic. Thankfully, Sophie had caught on quick to the fact that Sam was the one who loved her best, and was content to leave Dean alone.  
  
“How's the Angel of Home Improvement gig working out?” Dean steered the Impala away from the burning cabin, wedging the phone between his ear and shoulder so he could flip Sam off. Sam, the brat, made kissey faces at him.  
  
“At the moment, I am placing the rotten boards on the front porch. Please inform Sam that Sophie managed to get stuck under there, but he lured her out.”  
  
“Sam, your dog's an idiot,” Dean obligingly told his brother, ignoring Sam's insistence that there was nothing wrong with Sophie. On the other end of the line, Cas let out a huff of annoyance.  
  
“C'mon Cas, the dog _is_ kinda dumb-”  
  
“Not that. _Mike_ is here.”  
  
“Did he bring pie?”  
  
Dean could hear Cas inhaling slowly. “Strawberry.”  
  
“Save me some.” Cas's annoyed grunt made Dean laugh. “What is _with_ you about that kid? Don't tell me you're going all overprotective dad about a twelve year old.”  
  
“You only like him because he bribes you with pie,” Cas retorted.  
  
“You make me sound cheap,” Dean protested.  
  
“You _are_ cheap,” Sam muttered, settling against the seat to try and catch some sleep.  
  
“ _Relax_ , Cas. And stop glaring at the kid or Zoe's gonna spend her whole life as a friendless loner and grow up to be a crazy survivalist out in the middle of nowhere.”  
  
“You're on your way back?” Cas asked softly.  
  
“Yeah.” Dean's grin turned into something softer as he pulled onto the interstate. “We'll be back soon.”  
  
“Good.”  
  
“Please hang up,” Sam muttered. “I'm not sure how much more of this I can take.”  
  
“Sammy's being a bitch, so I gotta go.”  
  
“Goodbye, Dean.” Another point in Cas's favor – he knew when to hang up the damn phone.  


 

***

  
  
Sam was asleep, head resting against the passenger side window, when Dean pulled into the gravel covered lot behind Bobby's. Normally, Dean wouldn't stopped at a motel hours ago and finished the drive after a few hours sleep, but they'd already been gone so long, and it wasn't like Dean hadn't driven on little to no sleep before. And--  
  
And there had been _signs_. Cas had mentioned them during their last phone call, when Sam and Dean had stopped for food and to stretch their legs, and Sam had confirmed when they'd been able to find some wi-fi.  
  
It seemed the wait was finally over.  
  
Dean gave Sam's shoulder a little shake and got out, stretching his arms above his head to try and work the kinks out of his back. Inside the house, Sophie started to yip madly. The dog had yet to work out how to properly bark, so it was all yips and whines and excited noises that Dean couldn't exactly define.  
  
Salt skittered across the floor as the door opened, breaking the line spread out on the floor. Sophie raced past him, homing in on Sam like a furry missile.  
  
Cas was in the living room, a finger pressed to his lips as he gestured at Zoe, sleeping on the couch.  
  
“C'mon, if the kid slept through the dog, she'll sleep through me.” Dean still kept his voice down. “Salt lines?”  
  
“Zoe was worried, and she wanted to help.” Cas caught Dean's disbelieving expression. “Not a word, Dean.”  
  
“Wasn't gonna say a thing,” Dean reassured him. He leaned over the back of the couch. “She almost looks normal like this.” He twitched a frizzy lock of hair away from Zoe's face. He didn't notice Sam taking the picture with his phone until it was too late. “Dammit, Sam-!”  
  
Zoe knocked Dean's hand away, rolling awkwardly off the couch. “Christ!” Sophie darted from Sam's side to rejoice in Zoe's awakening by covering her face in dog slobber. “Ack! Ack! Off!”  
  
Sam snapped a few more pictures. “Gonna sleep now, night.” Sophie chased after Sam, letting Zoe get up, wiping at her face.  
  
“What the hell was that about?” she demanded.  
  
“Gathering poof that you're actually a kid, and not some evil troll creature in a kid suit. If you used all Bobby's salt, he's gonna need that reminder.”  
  
“Up yours,” Zoe muttered, heading for the stairs after Sam.  
  
“I think I see,” Cas mused, a near smile playing across his lips.  
  
“See... what?”  
  
“This is how you two show affection, much like with you and Sam. You snipe, and you complain-”  
  
Dean raised his hands to ward off the flow of words. “Can we save the chick flick moment for after I get coffee?”  
  
“There's strawberry pie in the kitchen, too,” Cas added helpfully. Dean laughed quietly, unwilling to disturb the silence that had fallen back over the house as he slung an arm across Cas's shoulders. He smelled like wood varnish and strong soap, and Cas's arm fit comfortably around Dean's waist.


	7. Is there a hero somewhere, someone who appears and saves the day

 

Part VII  
 _Is there a hero somewhere, someone who appears and saves the day_

_  
_One of the things about the Colt was that making new bullets was a bitch and a half. Not just the making, but the memories. One more nasty reminder of Ruby and how she'd played them all. Still, you use any weapon that comes to your hand, no matter what the source. It was the same reason they used Ruby's knife, the hex bags she'd taught them to make, all the thousand little things they'd picked up over the years from Ruby and the things like her.  
  
“Why does the whole place smell like _ass_?” Zoe demanded, standing at the top of the basement stairs.  
  
“ _That_ is the smell of justice!” Dean yelled back, moving to the base of the stairs.  
  
“Stop yelling across the house,” Bobby growled, holding up one of the new bullets between his thumb and forefinger. “Act like civilized people for once.”  
  
“Are y'all taking a body apart or something?”  
  
“Spoken like someone who's never smelled a dead body.” Bobby noted.  
  
“An experience that I'm sure would be very instructive,” Cas noted, “but one that I think is best put off for another day.”  
  
“Cas, do we gotta have another talk about what is and isn't right to show little girls?”  
  
“I've _seen_ dead bodies before.” Zoe thundered down the stairs like a herd of elephants, her face carefully blank. Cas reached out, hand resting briefly on her head.  
  
“Shouldn't you be tormenting Sam?” Dean wanted to know. “I swear, it's his turn to put up with you.”  
  
“He's trying to talk to me about _boys_. I decided a house that smells like ass was better.” She leaned into Cas's hand briefly, like a cat going in for petting, before wandering over to peer around Bobby. Horror flashed briefly across Dean's face, and it felt like someone had injected ice water into his veins. This was... _not_ a topic he'd ever thought he'd have to cover, even when he'd been with Lisa. Hell, what was there to really explain to a boy? But a little girl-  
  
Oh yeah, this was _so_ gonna be Sam's job.  
  
“You're leaving again?”  
  
Dean latched on to the new topic like a drowning man. “Soon as we find Meg.” He came around to the work bench and rested a hand on top of the Colt.  
  
“And my mom?”  
  
One of these days, Dean was gonna point out that the blank look Zoe cultivated gave away _way_ more than she thought it did.  
  
“We'll do what we can,” Bobby said gruffly. Demons were rough on the meatsuits; even under the best of circumstances, and exorcism was risky even at the best of times. Dean reached out, fingers brushing the top of her hair. Zoe allowed the contact for a moment before moving away to look at the pile of gear they'd cleared out from the trunk of the Impala after the last trip.  
  
“You need a haircut. You look like a dandelion.”  
  
“I'll get one when Sam does.”  


 

***

  
  
“It's missing,” Sam announced, screen door swinging shut behind him, punctuating the announcement. “I thought maybe it'd been left in the car, but-” Dean didn't bother to look away from the laptop screen. There was no urgency in his brother's tone, just annoyance. “The knife's gone.”  
  
Dean didn't even need to ask which knife; there was only one knife that warranted a 'the' from Sam.  
  
“Told ya not to leave it where the kid might see it.” Dean just smiled in the wake of Sam's bitchface.  
  
“We gotta talk to her about this.” Sam sat down, eying Dean expectantly. He might have said 'we', but Dean knew that he meant 'you'. “We're going through salt twice as fast as usual, half the holy water Bobby's bottled has disappeared, and we can't just let Zoe walk off with things. What if it was the Colt?”  
  
“I don't leave the Colt where she can grab it,” Dean noted, “and she'd about as interested in guns as I am in your rabbit food.”  
  
“ _Not_ the point, Dean.”  
  
Dean raised his hand, warding his brother off. “I'll get Cas to talk to her.”  
  
There was a moment, before it all started. The hairs on Dean's arms rose, and there was a noise, almost too high for human hearing. In the yard, Sophie let loose a howl that was abruptly cut off in a way that made Dean's stomach twist.  
  
Then the windows shattered, along with the light bulbs, the glass in front of Dean, the screen of the laptop, and if the sound was anything to go by, every dish in the kitchen cabinets. Not that Sam or Dean were paying that much attention, not with the _noise_. Sam collapsed against the table, palms pressed against his ears in a futile effort to block out the impossibly high, painful sound. Dean was on his hands and knees on the floor, glass cutting into his palms as he fought not to vomit up his breakfast. Dean _knew_ the noise; it was burned into his memory as surely as every torture of Hell.  
  
Cas came tearing through the house, stopping only to help Dean rise to his feet, looking as poleaxed as Dean felt.  
  
Dean went to Sam's side, supporting him as the noise faded away, staggering towards the back door in Cas's wake, glass crunching between their shoes.  
  
Cas stopped at the edge of the back porch, stepping between the Winchesters and the man standing in the back lot.  
  
Uriel looked up from the small, bloody thing clutched in his large hands and smiled. The bloody thing made a soft, whining noise, golden fur sticking up in the few places it wasn't slicked down with blood. Uriel kept smiling even as he dropped the whimpering thing, shaking the blood off his hands. “Castiel,” Uriel said brightly. “How far you've fallen.”  
  
“You're looking surprisingly well,” Cas noted coolly, “for someone I distinctly remember watching die.”  
  
“You'd be amazed how many people who fit that particular description are running around these days,” Uriel purred, looking especially pleased with himself.  
  
“How the hell are you here, Dickless?” Dean growled back, trying to get past Cas, who raised an arm and blocked Dean's way.  
  
Hadn't you heard, you uncouth little mud monkey?” Uriel spread his arms, smile turning mocking. “Our Father is in Heaven, and all is right with the world.” The mocking smile turned into an outright sneer. “Aside from the ongoing abundance of stinking apes.” The fur bundle on the ground continued to whimper pitifully, drawing a choking noise out of Sam. “Still, we must be grateful for second chances. Another opportunity to get it right.” A slim silver angel blade appeared in Uriel's hands. Just as suddenly, there as a blade in Cas's hands, and he had launched himself off the porch at Uriel.  
  
Cas was fast, and Sam and Dean were right behind him-  
  
But Uriel was faster, and still an angel at the height of his powers. He parried Castiel's slash with a blow that left Cas's whole arm numb, tossing the brothers back against the house with a flick of his wrist. Boards splintered from the force of the push, leaving darkness swimming in front of his eyes even as Sam pushed himself to his feet and gathered the blood from the gash on his forehead on his fingers. Cas switched his sword to his good hand, pressing his attack. Uriel brushed aside every blow with ease, _laughing_ at Castiel. _Toying_ with him.  
  
“I had hoped you would provide me with more of a challenge, Castiel.” Uriel lashed out with his Grace, knocking Cas down onto the gravel, pressing an expensively shod foot to Cas's chest to keep him in place as he reached out with his Grace again, shoving Sam away from the nearly finished angel banishing sigil and pinning him to the wall next to where Dean still lay dazed. “Meg was foolish to delay so long, but I suppose all good things are worth the-” Uriel had his sword raised high above his head, poise to bring it down in the middle of Cas's chest when the shot rang out, a dark spot blossoming between the angel's eyes. Light flared briefly as Uriel fell backwards, fire flashing briefly across the ground, charring the shape of Uriel's wings into the gravel and dirt.  
  
Castiel tilted his head back and saw Bobby standing in the doorway, the Colt still in his raised hand. “Idjit,” Bobby spat, crouching beside Dean and feeling the goose egg forming where his head had struck the house.  
  
“Bigger problems,” Dean muttered, getting unsteadily to his feel with Bobby's help. “Understatement of the fucking _year_.”  
  
“We have to _go_ ,” Sam said, heading for the bloody bundle of fur on the ground. Dean was still trying to clear the cobwebs from his head, but he knew _why_ and _where_ they needed to go. They could work out how Uriel had managed to claw his way back from oblivion later.  
  
Dean took the Colt from Bobby even as Bobby's cell phone went off. At some point, someone – Dean suspected Sam – had set up Bobby's phone to play the theme from Dragnet whenever Sheriff Mills called. Bobby fumbled the phone out of his pocket, grunting something that was almost a greeting. His eyes closed briefly in a pained expression. “Yeah, we're already on our way. Got a pretty good idea, Jody. Yeah, they're right here, I'll tell 'em.”  
  
Sam had carefully scooped up the nearly unrecognizable body of his dog. Sophie whimpered softly, tongue darting out to lick Sam's palm as she looked up at him like he could make all the hurt go away. Sam looked like he was torn between rage and tears, and the rage was winning. Castiel put a hand over Sam's, the flesh going briefly with pale light. Sophie stopped whimpering, and no new flesh blood dripped from her wounds. “I can't restore her,” Castiel noted bitterly, “but I can keep her from dying." Carefully, he handed the puppy to Bobby.  


 

***

  
  
The last time Dean had seen so many cops in one place, it'd been when Henriksen had almost caught them. It wasn't just the Sheriff's department-- they'd called in _everyone_ , from the state police to the FBI, drawing the attention of news crews from the local to the national.  
  
And there were the parents, all pressed against the barricades around the middle school like a flock of angry, hissing geese, all demanding to know what was happening to their children. Jody stood in the center of the chaos, fighting to bring about _some_ kind of order.  
  
“I know a way in,” Cas stated, eyes sweeping over the crowd. Helicopters hovered overhead, and the news crews were circling like vultures, hunting for the perfect sound bite, just the right image to convey the unfolding tragedy.  
  
There was a bloody imprint on the front steps, the kind you got from someone having their head bashed repeatedly into the concrete.  
  
“You! You're Zoe's daddy, aren't you?” One of the crowd of parents peeled off, marching up to Cas. “I saw you around the Singer place with her and my boy.” An impressive halo of orange curls stood out around her plump face, and enough crystal pendants rested on her ample, freckled cleavage to keep a New Age store in business for years. Dean pegged her one of those fluffy bunny Earth Mother type Wiccans that tended to drive Dean crazy with their insane belief that the universe was a friendly place. “Sweet mother of mercy, you all look like you went twelve rounds with a prize fighter.”  
  
Cas shook his head, gesturing to Dean. “Mrs. Mahone-”  
  
“Maude,” she corrected, turning her attention to Dean. Her eyes were a watery blue-gray, and it felt like she was looking right through Dean. “Mike's mother.” Bright red lips pressed into a thin line. “You _know_ what's going on in there, don't you, the _things_ \-- stop looking at me like I'm some kind of idiot, I remember you now. You were here for Sioux Falls' reenactment of Night of the Living Dead.”  
  
“Yeah, we get it,” Dean said quickly, cutting off the flow of words. “What do you _want_?”  
  
“My boy, safe and sound. Can you do that?” Maude demanded sharply.  
  
“If we can get inside,” Cas pointed out, eyes sweeping over the crowd once again, looking for a break that would let him get in. The school was surrounded – even Cas could tell there was no way to get in quietly without his ability to fly.” “We need a distraction.”  
  
“Think you can do that, sweetheart?” Dean asked, sarcasm dripping from every word.  
  
“Easy, Dean,” Sam whispered, squeezing his brother's shoulder.  
  
Maude gave a sniff and flounced away, tie-dyed skirt twitching. “ _You_ just get where you need to be. You got five minutes, _sweetheart_.”  
  
Cas tugged on Dean's jacket, leading the way around the side of the school.  
  
Cops _everywhere_. How the hell-  
  
Five minutes, and there was a _shriek_ like a damned soul escaping hell, followed by more more screams and the sound of a _car_ driving through the police barricades.  
  
The cops went streaming towards the screaming, and Cas went running for the school. There was a side door, set into a recess in the wall and partly hidden behind a shrub. Cas threw the door open with easy; the lock had been broken some time in the past.  
  
Bobby was going to have to find his own way in when he got there.  
  
The door lead down into the basement, one of the cleaner examples of a school basement Dean had run across. Cleaning supplies were ranked neatly against the walls, broken sports equipment pushed into the corner – and somewhere above them, demons, helpless kids, and Zoe.  
  
Not helpless, but a big damn target.  
  
“Cas, I am _so glad_ you're a huge creep,” Dean whispered, pulling the Colt from his holster. Cas took point, and Sam brought up the rear.  
  
“Where would Zoe be this time of day?” Sam asked as they emerged from the basement into a too silent hallway. It wasn't the silence of an empty building-- it wasn't even noon, and most of the classrooms were full. Jody had told them that Meg and her merry band had come storming in during the first lunch period. Most of the kids who'd been in the lunchroom had managed to escape; it'd been one of them who'd gotten off the first of many calls to the police. Jody had spared them the details, but Dean could imagine how things had gone down. He didn't _want_ to think about it, but he could just picture the demons boiling through the broken lunchroom windows, killing anyone within their reach before spreading out to take the school, _just because they could._  
  
“This way,” Cas whispered back, keeping low as they passed a bank of windows. Dean couldn't see any snipers out there, but there was no doubt that they were there, waiting for their shot.  
  
It would suck balls if they got shot by the police.  
  
Dean could almost hear the kids in the classrooms, more a sense of tense waiting and mind numbing terror than anything else. Just a bunch of scared kids trying not to do anything that could draw the attention of the murdering monsters swarming their school.  
  
They came to a junction, and that was where they found Ms. Witt. Someone had tossed her against the lockers like a broken doll, head lolling at an odd angle. Meg and her cronies had gone to town on her; nails ripped from her fingers, one knee bent unnaturally backwards, and her face beaten into a nearly unrecognizable pulp.  
  
“Christ.”  
  
The doors down one of the halls had been flung opened, some of them ripped off the hinges, and there was--  
  
“Jesus Christ-”  
  
\--there was so damn much blood, splashed on the dark green lockers, soaking into the industrial grade carpet--  
  
“That bitch is going to _pay_.”  
  
Cas's fingers brushed Dean's arm, and jerked his chin in the direction of another hall. Sam remained a reassuring presence at his back, ensuring nothing could creep up on them.  
  
“Here,” Cas murmured, resting a hand on a classroom door. “History. Mr. Sullivan.”  
  
The door, of course, was locked. Sam peered through the window set into the door. He could see the kids huddled together in the furthest corner of the classroom, the teacher on the floor with them. Mike spotted him, scrambling to his feet, a bottle of water clutched in his hands. “I don't see Zoe.”  
  
Cas popped up beside Sam, blood draining from his face as he scanned the room. Sam was right; Zoe wasn't amongst the terrified children. Mike scurried over to the door, ignoring the hissed commands to _get back_. The boy fumbled awkwardly with the door, like he was trying not to cross a boundary while getting the lock open. The door swung open, and Mike threw the water right in Sam's face, stepping back quickly. Someday, Dean was going to look back on that moment and laugh.  
  
“You're not evil?” Mike asked.  
  
“Not today,” Sam told the boy dryly, wiping his face with his hand.  
  
“Who _are_ you people?” Mr. Sullivan demanded as he got shakily to his feet, leaning heavily against the back wall, keeping one hand pressed against his nose; his upper lip and chin was caked with blood, and his eye was starting to take on a purplish hue.  
  
“We're with Sheriff Mills,” Dean told him, flashing the fake badge he kept in his wallet quickly. Not even a lie, really. “Where's Zoe? Zoe Fairchild?” He stepped past Sam and Cas.  
  
“Watch the salt!” Mike said quickly, drawing Dean's attention to the floor, and the thick line of salt on the carpet.  
  
“That little b-” Mr. Sullivan caught himself, clearly remembering that he was a _teacher_ , and that he was surrounded by his students. “She broke my nose and ran off after dumping salt everywhere. How are you going to get us _out_ of here? And you _still_ haven't told me what's going on.”  
  
“You're staying here.” Dean was thinking quickly, trying to put together something plausible. “Right now, _this_ is the safest place you can be.” He stepped carefully over the salt line and drew Mr. Sullivan close. “These guys are a cult,” he explained. “They believe they're demons. I mean _really_ believe.”  
  
A light of understanding dawned in Mr. Sullivan's eyes. “The commune,” he breathed.  
  
“The commune,” Dean agreed. He looked at Mike, who was wearing an expression of pure _What is this bullshit?_ “You got any more of that water?”  
  
“Zoe left her backpack.”  
  
“Right.” Dean rubbed his hands together and hoped that the dumb son of a bitch in front of him would listen. “These guys, they're gonna think that's holy water. Anyone else comes, you douse 'em. And _don't break the salt line_.” He turned to Mike. “Zoe say where she was going?”  
  
The boy shook his head, looking stricken. “She said she was gonna give 'em a shower.”  
  
Dean caught Cas's eye, and the angel nodded. _The sprinklers._  
  
“I'll get them set up here,” Sam volunteered. Salt lines and bottled holy water wasn't going to be enough once Meg figured out where Zoe was supposed to be.  
  
“I'll hit the office. Meg'll probably be there. Cas-”  
  
“I know where she'll go,” Cas confirmed. He squeezed Dean's forearm briefly, something that was almost a reassuring smile before slipping away. Jerk had probably memorized the whole floor plan.  


 

***

  
  
Castiel didn't care for leaving Dean alone, but in the end, it boiled down to priorities. Dean was a grown man with years of experience hunting demons, wielding a weapon capable of killing almost anything. Zoe _wasn't_ , and in a fit of stupidity worthy of the Winchester line, had run off to try and douse the demons with holy water from the sprinklers.  
  
Forget teaching how to do an exorcism; the next lesson was going to be about the difference between self sacrifice and suicide by stupidity.  
  
A lesson Dean could afford to learn as well.  
  
Castiel stopped, his blade resting comfortably in his hand, and he listened.  
  
“A fucking _angel_ , man. Why couldn't _he_ do this shit?”  
  
“You wanna go play with the Winchesters, fine. Me, I'll take _this_. I like kids.”  
  
“Like 'em a bit less until we find the bitch. I mean it, _focus_ or Meg'll be wrapping your intestines around the flag pole.”  
  
After Uriel, the demons were easy, and Castiel continued on to the basement. He was almost ready to curse the necessity of the hex bags; Zoe still had hers, and with his senses already dulled, he couldn't _find_ her.  


 

***

  
  
Dean noticed pretty quickly that _something_ had the attention of the demons stalking through the school. At first, he'd thought they were trying to find Zoe, but then he realized that they weren't even bothering to check the classrooms they passed; they were _herding_ someone.  
  
“Shit,” Dean whispered. “ _Zoe, down!_ ” Dean turned the corner and fired twice, leaving tow dead demons on the floor and Zoe peering around the corner at him, crouched low, her hair standing out every which way; it'd come loose from her pony tail at some point, and there was a thin line of blood on her chin. She came to Dean at his beckoning gesture, Ruby's knife clutched in her hands. Dean ran a hand over her head, smoothing back her hair. “You alright?”  
  
Zoe nodded, reaching up to wipe the blood away. “I bit my lip.”  
  
“Cas thought you were heading for the sprinklers.”  
  
Zoe held up her hand, showing Dean the rosary wrapped around her wrist. “They got between me and the basement. I was trying to lose them.”  
  
“Right.” Dean listened to the eerie quiet of the school. “I'm taking you back to your class and you're gonna _stay_ there.” He started back towards Mr. Sullivan's classroom.  
  
“Where's Cas?”  
  
“Looking for you,” Dean told her, “which is why you shoulda stayed there with your class in the first place.”  
  
“Cas says a moving target is better.” Zoe stuck close to Dean, glancing back over her shoulder.  
  
“You think you're real cute, don't you.”  
  
“I'm adorable,” Zoe confirmed brightly.  
  
Dean took Zoe's hand, the one not clutching the knife. “C'mon.”  
  
“You're both adorable.”  
  
Meg didn't hesitated, didn't give Dean time to raise the Colt as she stepped around the corner. The little tines of the Taser latched on, and the electricity arched through Dean's body. He could hear Zoe screaming as he hit his head for the second time that day on the lockers, and the world went dark.  


 

***

  
  
Castiel ran a hand along one of the water pipes, fingers coming back dusty. Seven demons before he'd gotten to the basement... no sign of Zoe. She hadn't made it down there, and Castiel felt like he was caught in a vice, scenarios flashing through his mind, each one worse than the last.  
  
 _She probably saw a demon in the way and hid instead,_ Castiel told himself. _She'll have found somewhere to hide._  
  
A part of Castiel marveled at his abilities of self-deception.  
  
Castiel was back up the steps when he heard the scream, shrill like a rabbit caught in a trap, overlaid by a more masculine yell of surprise and pain.  
  
 _Dean._  


 

***

  
  
If Dean ever had to make a list of things he _really_ hated, Tasers were gonna be right at the top of that list.  
  
“Rise and shine, pretty boy,” Meg crooned, laying a stinging slap across Dean's cheek, hard enough to jerk his head to the side. He could taste blood in his mouth. “I see Uriel's just like every other angel – all talk, no action.”  
  
Being duct taped to chairs was on that list right after Tasers. The chair had spun a bit with Meg's blow, but his arms were still secured.  
  
They were in the office, him and Meg and Meg's lackeys and Zoe. A woman in a powder blue suit was holding Zoe by the shoulders, and one eye was starting to swell shut, and there was blood streaming down her face from her nose. The woman in the suit smiled, eyes black.  
  
The Colt and the knife were laid out on the receptionist's desk, tantalizingly close.  
  
“We've got the other one cornered in one of the classrooms,” one of the other demons noted.  
  
“And Castiel?” Meg asked tersely. “Where's he?”  
  
“We think he's still in the basement. That was where he was seen going last.”  
  
“You _think_?” Meg whirled around, getting in the face of the demon, lips pulled back in an animal snarl. “ _Find_ him. The last thing I want in an angel running around messing everything up!” She gave the demon a hard push out the office door. “ _Demons,_ ” she sighed, rolling her eyes as she approached Zoe. “Worst minions ever.”  
  
“You get the hell away from her!” Dean struggled against the duct tape, trying to push his chair over to Meg and Zoe with his feet. One of the demons grabbed the back of the chair and pulled him away.  
  
Meg threw a smirk at Dean over her shoulder as she cupped Zoe's face. “Aren't you just the spitting image of your daddy,” she cooed.  
  
“Fuck you,” Zoe spat.  
  
“Adorable.” Meg ruffled Zoe's hair in a parody of an affectionate gesture. The demon gripping Zoe's shoulders gave her a hard shake when Zoe tried to jerk away.  
  
“I'm gonna kill you.” Dean continued to try to loosen the tape holding him to the chair.  
  
“Don't you ever get tired of making promises you can't keep, Dean?” Meg leaned against the receptionist's desk and smiled like a damn shark as she picked up the Colt, checking to see how many bullets were left. “I know I get tired of hearing it.” She raised the Colt to the level of Dean's eyes, miming firing. “You know, normally I like to play with my food, but I think I'd rather just get a move on before any of Clarence's old buddies show up.”  
  
All the lights above them shattered, and Meg didn't even flinch. “Speak of the devil.”  
  
Someday, Dean would have to compliment Cas on his ability to make an entrance, even if Meg wasn't impressed. All the demons but Meg and the woman holding Zoe swarmed Cas, giving Dean _exactly_ the distraction he needed. He kicked hard against the floor, careening into Meg. The Colt went skittering across the room, followed by Dean when Meg shoved him away, the rolling chair tipping over. The demon in blue let out a shocked yelp, clutching her hand where Zoe had bitten it while Zoe darted away, snatching up the knife as she went.  
  
“You little cunt!”  
  
The demon in blue caught Zoe again by the hair and Zoe brought Ruby's demon killing knife around, shoving up from beneath her rib cage. Dean would have cheered if Meg hadn't kicked him in the face while scooping up the Colt again. “I am _so_ tired of this,” she noted, turning and aiming at Cas. Dean jerked one of the arms of the chair free and grabbed Meg's ankle, yanking her feet out from under her. Meg still had the Colt in her hands, and she brought it around to Dean as he pulled his other arm free.  
  
Castiel brought his foot down hard on Meg's wrist, the bones cracking beneath the force of it and the weight of his body, making her release her hold on the Colt. His other foot, already coated in demon blood, came to rest on her neck, heavy enough to make Meg choke. Dean scrabbled for the Colt, aiming it right between Meg's eyes. “You got no idea how long I wanted to do this.”  
  
“You kill me,” Meg gasped out, “you won't know why I wanted the kid or what else is after her.”  
  
Dean and Castiel glanced at each other. “I think we can manage without the information,” Cas pointed out as Dean pulled the trigger.  
  
Cas stepped back, and Dean holstered the Colt. His whole body felt rubbery, and there were spots dancing in front of his eyes. “Zoe-”  
  
Zoe was sitting on the floor, pressed against the receptionist's desk with her knees drawn up against her chest. Her face was blotchy and tears rolled down her cheeks; she had eyes only for the dead demon in the powder blue suit, the knife sticking out below her sternum.  
  
“Mama...”  
  
Dean put his arms around Zoe, pulling her to her feet gently. She didn't protest or pull away while Dean held her. “We gotta go get Sam.”  
  
Cas pulled Ruby's knife from the body of Zoe's mother, wiping the blood off on the suit. He squeezed Dean's shoulder, tucking the knife into his belt before wiping some of the blood from Zoe's face with his thumb. “We need to go,” he agreed.  
  
Zoe sniffed loudly, a profoundly disgusting mucusy noise, and nodded. She didn't look at the body again, clinging to Dean's hand as he lead her away, Cas walking on Dean's other side with his fingers brushing Dean's hand.  


 

***

  
  
It was over a month before the middle school reopened. Jody kept them apprised of the situation, from the reckless endangerment charges against Maude Mahone being dropped out of consideration for her mental state at the time to the appearance of Joanne McGrudder amongst the corpses. Zoe McGrudder was still missing, presumed murdered by her mother when it became clear that Joanne had been one of the people who'd rampaged through the school. Authorities were more than happy to link her to the massacre at Zoe's old school, glad to have a name and a face they could pin some blame on.  
  
Sioux Falls was inundated with reporters, psychologists, analysts, and conspiracy theorists of all types, all of them trying to make sense of a senseless tragedy. Memorial services were held, and families grieved for their lost loved ones. But time moved steadily onward, the blood was cleaned up, and just after Winter Break the students returned to Sioux Falls Middle School.  
  
Dean was waiting, idling in the parking lot when the last bell of the day rang. Zoe didn't linger with the clumps of other students, making a bee-line to the Impala and climbing into the back seat. “My teachers all think I'm in Witness Protection thanks to you.”  
  
“They giving you any trouble?” Dean asked, looking at his daughter through the rear view mirror.  
  
Zoe looked out the window, shaking her head. “They all wanna know if I'm _okay_ ,” she sneered. Dean didn't ask her if she was; however Zoe felt about what had happened that day, whatever she felt about having to kill the demon wearing her mother like a suit, she kept it to herself, and Dean wasn't going to try and pry it out of her. That was Sam's job, not that he'd had much success. Zoe willing to help Sam take care of Sophie, who was recovering nicely in spite of losing one of her front legs, but whenever Sam tried to bring up her mom, Zoe shut right down.  
  
Dean figured she'd talk about it when she was damn well ready.  
  
The passenger door opened, and Cas slid into the seat. “Nothing worrying,” he reported, leaning over to brush his lips against the corner of Dean's mouth. “The security has greatly improved.”  
  
“Just try not to get caught. I don't think they'll buy the crazy war vet thing again.”


	8. Epilogue: And maybe tomorrow is a better day

 

 

Epilogue _  
_

_And maybe tomorrow is a better day_

  
Dean woke up to the sound of Sophie barking like it was her last chance to ever make herself heard. He groaned softly, rolling over to bury his head in the pillow. “No.”  
  
Beside him, Cas sighed and slowly stretched, making the bed creak beneath his shifting weight. “Yes.” He pressed a dry kiss to the back of Dean's neck, raking his fingers through the graying hair at the nape. Sam was downstairs, already pounding on the door; he had his own damn keep, but some weird rule of politeness or whatever kept him out there making an ungodly racket with his stupid dog. Maybe he just wanted to make sure Dean and Cas were both dressed. He'd been through enough Naked Morning Times to make him cautious when he came over first thing in the morning.  
  
“Sun's not even up yet,” Dean grumbled, but still he rolled over to look up at Cas. The angel smiled, a second kiss brushing Dean's lips. Dean caught his hands in Cas's hair, still dark and completely unchanged by the years, just like the rest of him, and pulled him into another kiss. Cas allowed it for a few moments, then pulled away.  
  
“We're supposed to meet Zoe,” Cas reminded him, rolling out of their bed before Dean could catch him again. “If we hurry, we can catch her before breakfast.”  
  
Dean perked up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, ignoring the twinge in his hip. “She's not gonna like that,” he noted brightly, ignoring Cas's dirty look. “C'mon, I gotta have my fun somehow.”  
  
Cas rose with considerably more grace than Dean, tossing clean clothes onto the bed for Dean to put on before heading downstairs to let Sam in. For a moment, Dean felt a twinge of envy to go with his stinging hip; Cas remained untouched by time, physically unchanged by the decade they'd known each other, while Dean had not. The years of abuse his body had taken were catching up with him. There was gray in his hair and an ache in his joins that wouldn't go away; he dressed slowly, mindful of the arm that he couldn't quite raise above his shoulder anymore.  
  
The smell of coffee lured Dean downstairs, where Sophie had taken up residence on the couch. She raised her head as Dean passed and tumbled off, following him with her awkward, three legged gait hopefully. Where there was Dean, there was usually meat to be shared with hungry dogs.  
  
“Dog ain't coming with us, Sammy,” Dean announced when he hit the kitchen. Sophie hopped past him, going straight to Sam and looking hopefully up at her human.  
  
“I know,” Sam conceded easily. “Just thought I'd give Sarah and Johnny a little peace and quiet today. Sophie'll be fine here.”

 

 

***

  
  
Dean Winchester had decided that it was the little things that made fatherhood worthwhile. Hanging the A+ essay on the front of the fridge, watching your baby girl rebuild her first engine, that post-clearing-out-a-vampire nest beer with his family, Cas by his side. Having someone else dig up the grave while you got to relax.  
  
Seeing your angel mojo open a motel room door and toss the guy your daughter had taken back with her last night out, with the poor naked guy's clothes following a few moments later and hitting him square in the face before the door slammed shut.  
  
"Dean." Sam's tone was a warning, and Dean didn't need to look at him to know that his brother was rocking an epic bitchface. And Dean did not give a single damn; he was going to enjoy _every_ moment of this.  
  
He ambled over to the poor boy; he was clearly still mostly asleep, and struggling to get his clothes on in the motel parking lot. "So _you're_ my baby girl's new boyfriend!" Dean called out with a hearty laugh and a big, toothy smile. And oh, the look of raw panic spreading across that boy's face.  
  
It really was the little things.  
  
Cas left the motel room, the door slamming behind him, as the boy he'd thrown out fled before Dean's terrifying grin, looking pleased with himself. Dean caught his arm, pulling Cas forward and into a quick kiss. “We should do this more often.”

 

 

***

  
  
Dean tried to rap his fork on the filching fingers, but still his bacon disappeared from his plate and right into Zoe's mouth. She grinned crookedly, chewing with her mouth open. “ _You're_ supposed to cutting back on the fatty foods.”  
  
“I haven't had bacon in weeks!” Dean protested. Cas raised an eyebrow, and he amended, “A week.” The other eyebrow went up. “A few days- look, just stop stealing my breakfast, huh? You got your own!”  
  
“But it tastes so much better when I take it from you,” Zoe teased, flipping her braid over her shoulder and snatching up another slice of bacon. “Of course, if I let you have it, you die of a heart attack, and Cas comes on the road with me.” She studied the bacon thoughtfully, then put it back on Dean's plate.  
  
“You're horrible, you know that?” Dean jabbed a finger in Zoe's direction, letting the bacon stay on the side of his plate as he attacked his omlette.  
  
“I learned from the best. Now, about that werewolf-”  
  
Castiel didn't stick around to hear about the werewolf; he'd already heard all the details Zoe had to share, and could have recited them back without missing a beat. He'd been eying the Claw Grab next to the bar where truckers sat scarfing down their breakfasts without having to wait to get a booth or a table, and specifically the purple bear near the top of the pile of stuffed animals and other prizes. He'd gotten very good at the Claw Grab machines the last few years; Zoe didn't much care for stuffed animals, save for a rather tired and worn bear Sam had given her that she would deny the existence of until she was blue in the face, but Cas's prizes still always found their way into the hands of people who would love them. Over the last year, most of them had ended up in the gummy embrace of Sam's son, John Robert.  
  
Castiel dropped two quarters into the coin slot and nodded a quiet hello to Chuck Shurley, who sat there nursing a cup of coffee.  
  
“I take if you don't want them to notice you.”  
  
Chuck smiled into his cup. “Just checking in, thought I'd say hello.”  
  
Castiel grunted, maneuvering the claw so it was over the purple bear. “No dire warnings to deliver? War in Heaven, uprising in Hell, plagues to sweep across the Earth?” He let the claw drop, just barely catching the bear and watching with baited breath as is slowly slipped between the claw's tines, almost dropping back into the pile of toys rather than down the chute.  
  
“Not today.” Chuck finished his coffee and laid down a twenty for the waitress, brushing his hands on his slacks.  
  
Castiel took the purple bear from the chute and went back to his family.  



End file.
